


Every Trace of Sadness

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Angst, Birds, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Family Secrets, First Time, Foster Care, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, High School, Holding Hands, Loneliness, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Making Out, Musicals, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Road Trips, Running Away, Talent Shows, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8175730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: After years of homeschooling, Mark has led a sheltered life fraught with expectation from his parents.  Kian is someone they wouldn't like at all.  Always in trouble, his home life something of a tragic secret.Mark wants to know him.  Wants it more than he's ever wanted anything.Because, when Kian does occasionally manage a smile, Mark can't help but want to hold his hand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promise that any implications about the characters families are definitely, 100%, not accurate. This blurted out of me over two days while at home with a back injury and on too many painkillers, so by the time I realised I was a bad person I was too far in to stop and too drugged up to care.
> 
> I'll probably regret all of this, but that's not a new feeling, so I'll live with it.

 

 It was dark when they started driving.

Kian hadn't slept. Hadn't known how to, though he knew he'd need his energy. It had been well after midnight when he'd heard the crunch of the car pulling up in the little lane at the end of the block, felt it prickle up his spine like a promise. He'd been too frightened to even lay down, sure that he'd miss it, had sat on the hard floor beside his bed, knees pulled to his chest and staring into the darkness, feeling it watch him back.

He crept out quietly. There was always a moment like in the movies, some dramatic swell of music, some desperate romantic embrace. Instead he just closed the door, made his way to the car, the starlight pinpricks in the sky and his bladder full with nerves. He'd climbed in, barely able to make Mark out in the shadows.

Mark didn't squeeze his hand or ask if he was sure.

They were both sure.

By the time light broke over the horizon, sickly green and dragging the darkness behind it like a net, Kian didn't think they'd said two words to each other. He heard Mark inhale a shuddering breath.

“That's it, then.”

Kian nodded, staring out the window. The fields were grey and desolate in the dawn light. He knew how they felt.

“Stop for breakfast?”

“Not... yet.” He bit his lip. He needed more distance between them first. They'd been driving for over an hour, and it wasn't far enough. Couldn't be far enough.

Mark accepted it silently, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Kian didn't know if he'd slept.

He closed his eyes, felt exhaustion thrum under his skin. A hand touched his knee, soft.

“Sleep,” Mark murmured. Kian opened his mouth, going to protest that they were in this together. He got a soft smile. “I'll keep watch. Get some sleep.”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes again. The hand left his knee.

The slow wind of the car drifted through him like gravity as they sped down the motorway, the rumbling of the engine soothing him down.

 

*

 

The school office was quiet. Outside it was noisy, kids shouting and mucking around, the noise of laughter muffled through the glass. In here there was just the clacking of the secretary's keyboard, the clock on the wall ticking time relentlessly forward.

It was thirteen minutes past eight. He was hungry, wondered if he'd still have time for breakfast after this. He wondered what the food would be like. Not that it mattered, particularly; his mother had packed a lunch for him anyway.

“Mark?”

He looked up. A woman was gesturing at him from an open door. The vice-principal, probably. When he stood his stomach shifted nervously. She smiled.

He went inside. Small, neat office, inspirational posters on the wall and a crude child's finger-painting framed on the desk next to a family photo. The chair was a little threadbare. He sat down, heard a soft creak. She was still smiling.

She welcomed him, gave him his roster, and asked if he had any questions. It all felt cookie cutter, like she was stamping him into the most convenient shape as quickly as possible. He didn't have any questions. His parents had probably asked enough questions for both of them.

When he was done he went to sit back in reception. She said she'd get one of the students to show him to his first class. That was breakfast out, then. He wondered if he should eat a granola bar while he was waiting, but wasn't sure if it was okay to do that inside. He didn't want to get in trouble on his first day, after all. That was the last thing he needed.

He looked up as another boy slumped noisily into the seat next to him, the chair thunking on the wall with the force of it. A backpack was dumped on the ground. Mark watched him scowl up at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest.

They sat in silence for a long moment. Mark could hear him breathing.

“Hi,” he said quietly, just to fill the silence. He heard a soft snort.

“Hey.” The boy didn't look at him. He was blonde, maybe Mark's age, with hair curling almost to his shoulders and a fierce set to his mouth. His uniform was clean enough, but seemed to hang off him differently, a little too big, and Mark could see grazes on both knees below the cuffs of his school shorts.

“I'm new.”

“Congratulations.” He huffed out a breath, blowing loose hair off his forehead.

“Kian.” The secretary looked up. “Ms Lewis won't be five minutes.”

“Thanks, Charlene.” He yawned, and his head rocked forward slightly. “How's Theo?”

“He's grand. Took his first steps last week. Flying.”

“That's class.” He smiled slightly.

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, stretching in his chair. “I was framed.”

“Were you now?” The phone on her desk rang. “Excuse me.” She picked it up, turned away a little. Kian tipped his head back again, closing his eyes. There was long silence again. Mark shifted awkwardly, wondering when this chaperone was due to show up. He could probably make his own way, given directions, and it had to be getting close to first period.

“Kian, right?” he said after a heavy few moments. “I'm Mark.”

“Hello,” Kian said simply. Mark shifted.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” His eyes opened again. They were blue. Startlingly so, like a clear winter's day. “You always mind your own business?”

“Sorry,” Mark said automatically, feeling himself flush. Kian was sitting up properly now, looking at him, and he didn't know what to say. “Well, I hope you don't get in too much trouble, then.”

“Really? Thanks so much.” Kian rolled his eyes. “What did you do, then?”

“It's my first day.”

“Right, but what did you do?”

“Nothing. I was just getting my... my roster and stuff,” he mumbled awkwardly. Kian raised an eyebrow. “Someone's supposed to be taking me to my first class.”

“What is it?”

“French.”

“Timmons?”

“Er...” Mark peered at his roster, trying to make sense of it. “Yes.”

“It's literally down the hall. You can find it on your own.”

“Ms Lewis said I should wait.”

“Do you always do what people tell you to do?”

“No,” Mark retorted, though that wasn't exactly true. He didn't think he was a suck-up or anything, he just didn't like to get in trouble, knew his parents would be disappointed if he did. “No. I didn't know it was that close. It's my first day.”

“You mentioned that.” Kian laughed slightly. Mark felt himself flush. The secretary had just hung up the phone, was glancing at them again. “How much longer's this going to be, Charlene? I have places to be.”

She picked up the phone again, spoke briefly into the receiver, then hung up. “You can go in now.”

“Ah, cheers.” He stood. “See you later, Mark.” Mark was going to reply, but before he could Kian had strode into the office and closed the door behind him. He looked back at Charlene, who shrugged.

“How um...” He bit his lip, glancing around. “How close is my class, actually? I can probably just find it on my own.”

It was down the hall after all. Mark picked up his bag and started walking.

 

*

 

When Kian woke it was light and the car was slowing. He didn't move yet. It was overcast, the sun a glaring smudge on their left. Hedgerows broke on their right, revealing a village dotted across the fields, houses poking above the hills like square teeth. There was a petrol station coming up on the other side. They pulled in.

“Kian?”

He shook himself, sat up. When he turned to look Mark was smiling tentatively.

“Hey.” It stuck in his throat. He cleared it quickly. “How long...?”

“Couple hours.” Mark touched his knee. “We're close to Belfast.” He gestured at the fuel gauge. It was almost to empty. “I have some granola bars in the back if you want something to eat.”

“Boy scout,” Kian teased gently. Mark smiled bashfully back.

“I never did get my Fleeing the Country badge,” he joked awkwardly.

“Mark, I'm...”

“Don't say sorry.” A hand caught his. Kian bit his lip, trying to think what to say. “I came because I wanted to. You know I did.” He leaned in. Kian did too. A soft mouth touched his, careful and sweet, just like it always had. He curled his fingers through soft hair, wanting Mark closer, getting it when he felt a hand cup to his cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Mark nodded.

“Always.” Kian wanted to cry. “You might have to drive for a bit, if you're awake. I was starting to doze at the end there.”

Kian nodded. Of course he would. Anything.

“Come on.” Mark reached for the door. Kian didn't want him to let go. “I'll fill up the tank.” He paused. Their hands linked again, Mark's fingers entwining through his and holding tight. “It's going to be okay, you know?”

Kian leaned in for another kiss.

 

*

 

French was easy. Mark would have liked to have said it came naturally, but it took a lot of effort. Always had. Tutors and homework, and hours upon hours of study. Second best was another word for losing, in his parents' eyes.

He'd never taken it personally. They wanted the best for him, as he'd been told repeatedly. When he was little they'd been told he was gifted, and he'd always been treated as such. Reading since before he was two, always ahead of the other kids in his classes. It had been boring, then, when everything had come so easily, when he'd excelled with little to no effort. They'd pulled him out of school when he was nine, said the system wasn't keeping up to his abilities. His mother had been home-schooling him until... well, until yesterday, basically.

Now it was hard. He felt, sometimes, that he'd caught up. Hit his potential. And suddenly it was his fault when things started to slip. He was smart, he was capable, so obviously he was being lazy, or failing on purpose, which was absolutely not acceptable. They said it was so he could maximise his potential, that it would put him in good stead in the future.

Mostly he was just exhausted.

“Mark.” He looked up. The teacher was looking at him. It was a module on basic conversational French, which he'd already done at home with Clarisse. “Est-ce que vous avez des frères et sœurs?”

“J'ai deux frères,” he replied quickly. “Mes frères s’appellent Barry et Colin.”

“Très bon.” Mr Timmons beamed. “Tu parles très bien le francais.”

“Je vous remercie.”

“Very good!” His teacher clapped his hands. “Who wants to tell me what Mr Feehily just said?” There was dead silence. Someone coughed. Mark looked down at his desk, feeling himself blush slightly. The teacher was about to speak again when the door opened.

Kian stepped in, lifting his hand slightly in a wave. His eyes caught on Mark, then moved on, disinterested. Mr Timmons smiled.

“Kian Egan. Vous êtes en retard.”

“What did you just call me?” Kian raised an eyebrow. Mr Timmons laughed.

“I was commenting on your lateness, lad. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, erm...” Kian dug in his pocket and pulled out a slip. The teacher read over it quickly, then nodded, gesturing to an empty seat near Mark. “Cheers.” He slumped down into his chair, tossing his bag underneath the desk. The teacher was already going back to the board.

“Hey,” Mark whispered. Kian glanced over. “I erm... I found the class. Thanks.”

“Without help and all?” Kian smirked, rolling his eyes. “Good work.”

“Was everything alright?”

“With what?”

“With...” Mark hesitated when the teacher turned back around. Kian still wasn't looking at him, was staring at the board.

Class passed quickly. When the bell rang Mark was going to say something to Kian. He wasn't sure what. Didn't know why he was even bothering. Kian didn't seem much interested in anything he had to say.

Before he had a chance, though, Kian was scooping up his bag and banging out into the hall.

He sighed, and followed.

 

*

 

His next class was English. Kian wasn't in that one. He was assigned a seat up the back and kept his head down through most of it. There was an assignment due in a few days, apparently, which he'd been given a reprieve from for obvious reasons, so he just read quietly while the others worked. His parents would probably be mentioning that it would be a good time to get some work done for other classes, but it was a good book and he hadn't had much time to read, lately.

School was interesting, so far. He'd always known it was coming, that once he turned sixteen his parents would get him into a proper school so he could do his last two years for Leaving Cert. Something about making sure he was properly socialised before he went off to university, though there were outings organised once a month with some of the other home-school kids. They got along okay. His brothers had fun, but most of them were younger and Mark had always had a little trouble making friends. He never knew what to say to people, always felt like the answering silence when he was speaking was going to swallow him up.

Not that it mattered, considering he hadn't spoken to anyone yet. He didn't know anyone here, unless you counted Kian, and Mark was sure neither of them did. By lunchtime he was feeling more lonely than ever, hollow in the pit of his stomach.

The cafeteria was packed. Mark lurked in the doorway for a long moment, not sure where to go. Nobody looked particularly welcoming.

He turned around and headed to the toilets. He ate his sandwich in a locked stall, a book open in his other hand.

When he got home his mam asked how his first day had gone. He said fine. She asked if he'd made any friends. He said he'd talked to a couple of people, but hadn't really got the chance to get to know anyone. She ruffled his hair and said he'd better get a start on homework, then. The other kids were probably ahead, after all, and he'd need to catch up.

School the next day was more of the same. Kian was in two more of his classes, Maths and Geography, but otherwise Mark didn't really see him. He looked for him at lunch, couldn't find him, and ended up eating in the toilets again.

He was at the bus stop when he finally saw Kian.

He walked past, glanced up at Mark for a moment, then walked on. Two girls laughed as he hopped over the fence and started to cross the parking lot.

“What a freak,” one murmured. Her friend laughed. “You hear about yesterday?”

“I heard he was caught stealing from woodshop a few months ago,” the friend replied. “They found a screwdriver in his backpack, and an electric drill. Wonder what he wanted them for.”

“Probably wanted to stab someone.” The first girl rolled her eyes. “He's such a weirdo, though. My brother said he got caught climbing onto the roof of the gym once. He got suspended for that. Don't even know why he's still here. He's like, sixteen. He should just drop out.”

“I heard he got in a fight with Amy's cousin last week. He was hanging out and that mental just walked over and punched him. Terry's mates had to pull him off. He got a couple of good ones back, but Egan went berserk.” She rolled her eyes. “My ma says he's on a downhill trip to prison.”

“Best place for him. He'll probably drop the soap on purpose.” They were still laughing when the bus rolled up.

Mark found a place up the back to sit and stared out the window the whole way home, looking for a glimpse of a blue school jumper and blonde hair.

 


	2. Chapter 2

They stopped to sleep in a parking lot in Belfast, snuggled up in the backseat. Mark had suggested a motel, but Kian wanted to save their money. They locked the doors and lay down together, Mark spooned around him and breathing down the back of his neck, his hands making slow circles on Kian's stomach that got clumsy as he drifted towards sleep.

Kian closed his eyes and sank into it. Into feeling like this. Tried to block out the outside world and absorb the safety, gentle hands on him and sleepy kisses on his nape.

They had something to eat when they woke. It was getting into the afternoon. When the sun set Kian was sat on the beach, staring out at water stretched out forever and rolling blue sparkles hiding the depths.

He looked up as Mark sat down beside him.

“Okay, so we can get a ferry tomorrow morning.” He passed over a pamphlet. Kian took it. He didn't need to open it. If Mark said it, it was true. “Should be in Scotland by lunch.”

“Okay.” He reached out a hand, felt Mark's curl into it. “Okay,” he breathed. An arm wrapped carefully around his shoulders. “What now?”

“Go for a walk? Bite to eat, maybe? I don't...” Mark trailed off. When Kian looked up to ask what was wrong, Mark was smiling.

“What?”

“You're beautiful.” Fingers brushed his cheek. Kian blushed, nuzzled into them.

“Let's stay here for a bit,” he murmured. Mark nodded, pressing a kiss to his hair.

 

*

 

By the time Mark's first two weeks were over he had more or less settled into a routine. He'd learned his way around, was starting to get the layout, at least enough to find his way to most of the major landmarks. His brothers were still home-schooling and were always asking questions about what proper school was like, whether the other kids were cool and if the teachers were strict.

Mark still hadn't met any people, really. He'd made passing conversation with a few of the other kids in his class, but felt presumptuous going to sit with them. It was just easier to make himself scarce, to not be that person awkwardly sitting by himself when he could be in the toilets, or in the library.

He was there halfway into his third week, brushing up on some work for History, when he saw Kian go past the window.

He was on his feet in a moment, the book forgotten on the table. He wasn't sure why he cared. It was just a boy in his class, after all, but already he'd heard rumours about Kian Egan. There were a lot of them, most of which were probably untrue, but they all seemed to suggest that Kian was weird, not someone to hang around. Even the kids who smoked behind the sheds didn't want to hang out with him. He was apart from it all. He was always alone.

Mark knew how that felt.

Kian was going around the back of the building, and without knowing why Mark was following. Scooping up his things and heading for the door. There was still twenty minutes or so left of lunch, and it was certainly more interesting than studying.

When he got down the hall and out the side door Kian was gone.

He looked around. Kian had come this way, surely. Unless he'd doubled back there was nowhere else to go.

There was a ladder bolted to the wall. He looked up.

A pair of black shoes disappeared over the lip of the roof, three stories up.

Mark stared.

No, that was way too high. He'd get in trouble.

By the time the bell rang Kian still hadn't come down. Mark gave it a moment longer, wondering if he'd see a blonde head poke over the edge.

When the second bell rang there was still no sign.

He headed back to class.

 

*

 

“From the top.”

Mark looked down at his sheet-music, clearing his throat.

The conductor called them to a stop a few seconds later, scolded a couple of the altos for not paying attention. A few spaces over another boy was eyeing one of them up.

“Shane Filan.”

“Sorry.” His eyes snapped back to the conductor. Mark almost laughed. Shane looked a little dazed, was still sneaking looks at the girls out of the corner of his eye.

They got back to it. He wasn't a big church-goer, but he'd always sung in the local choir. Not his sort of music, in fairness, but there was something about singing that had always calmed him. Especially like this, as part of a group, hearing their voices all blend together.

They wrapped up after an hour or so. Mark went to get his bag, digging it out from the pile at the door.

“You're good.” He looked up, got a smile. A hand reached out. “Shane.”

“Mark.” He shook it. “Thanks. You too.”

“Ah, shucks.” Shane winked, though, laughing.

“You're new, right?” He let go of Shane's hand to shrug on his backpack. “Are you at Summerhill, or?”

“Finished last year. I was in the school choir, so I figured I'd give this a go instead.”

“I'm starting Leaving Cert cycle now,” Mark sighed. Shane pulled a face. “Exactly.”

“Don't miss it at all.” Shane reached for his own bag. “You should try out for the local theatre. We usually do a couple of musicals and things every year. It's a good laugh.”

“Really? Yeah, that sounds...” It sounded great. He hoped he'd have time. “Thanks.”

“It's cool. It's at the Hawks Well. Keep an eye out on the notices and things, they usually say when something's coming up. Or I can let you know if I see anything.” He slung his satchel on over his shoulder. “I'll see you round, okay?”

Mark said it was nice meeting him. Shane was scurrying off a moment later, in the wake of a pretty girl who had just exited through the front doors of the church. Mark chuckled to himself. Obviously a bit of a ladies man, that one. Still, a musical did sound like fun.

The house was quiet when he got home. His brothers were probably still at football training with his mother, and his dad would be at work until late. He made himself a quick dinner and headed upstairs to study.

 

*

 

Mark was walking to the library when he next saw Kian.

The halls were deserted, everyone packed in the cafeteria for lunch, and his footsteps echoed down the silent hallway, patent leather shoes on linoleum. He took a quick detour to stop at the bathroom, and it was on the way back that he heard music.

It was soft, tinkling piano. A familiar melody, but one he couldn't quite place, some old standard. It was beautiful, actually, played by someone with obvious skill but not much training, the notes carefully placed and a little hesitant, but perfect nonetheless. Before he knew it he was at the door to the music room, peering in through the glass.

Kian was hunched over the piano, fingers moving across the keys like they were playing him, instead of the other way round. His forehead was creased in concentration, lips moving a little like they were tracing the notes, blonde hair flopped down over his forehead. There were no sheets on the rack, nothing to read from, just Kian and the piano, locked away in the little room.

He didn't know how long he stood there, but by the time the piece was over he felt rooted to the spot, like the music had melted him somehow in place. Kian pushed away slightly, and before Mark knew what he was doing he was pushing the door open.

Kian's head jerked up, eyes accusing. Mark froze.

“Sorry. I just heard...”

“I'm... just leaving.” He snatched his bag off the floor, already striding towards the open window. He must have climbed in, Mark realised. They were on the ground floor, after all, and Mark doubted Kian was allowed in here without permission.

“Wait...” He probably wasn't allowed in either. He was already halfway across the room, though, Kian halfway out the window. “It was beautiful. What is it?”

“I don't know. Just some old song. I have to go.” He clambered out. Mark looked around. Nobody was coming. He crossed the room and bent, peering out. Kian was already turning the corner, jogging across the grass.

“What are you doing?”

“I...” He turned around. “Sorry. Ms Lewis. I...” He swallowed. “I thought I saw something.”

“Aren't you supposed to be at lunch?”

“Yeah. Yes. I was just on my way to the library to study. Erm...” He forced a smile. “Sorry.”

He scuttled from the room, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder.

He supposed it wasn't any of his business.

 

*

 

“What are you humming?”

“Oh...” Mark felt himself blush. He hadn't realised he had been, but the song had been stuck in his head for two days, so he supposed it wasn't surprising. He was like that, sometimes, caught himself humming or singing a song without meaning to, tapping out a beat with his foot. “Dunno. Heard it somewhere. Won't get out of my head.”

“It sounds like one of those old movie songs,” his dad commented. “Like Frank Sinatra or someone.”

“Maybe. I don't know.” He shrugged. They were sat at breakfast. His dad was due to leave for work any minute, his mam fussing around trying to get his brothers out of bed.

“How's school going?”

“Fine. Just... you know. School.”

“Having trouble with any subjects?”

“Not so far.” He knew if he was they'd get him a tutor. They always did, to make sure he was staying on track. His report card would be pored over before the ink was even dry, but that was still a couple of months away. “I was talking to one of the guys at church choir, and he said they do musicals at the theatre. I was thinking of trying out.”

“As long as it doesn't interfere with your school work.” His dad looked up. “Does it cost anything?”

“I don't think so, no.” And that was the conversation effectively over. He'd been more or less given permission, he supposed.

He skipped the bus that morning, decided to walk it. It was a lovely day, clear and bright, the sun perfect and air cold. Edging into autumn, the trees still thick with yellowing leaves. He cut across a field, wanting to stretch his legs before being squashed behind a desk all day. By the time he made it to the school gates the bell was ringing, and he dashed up the stairs to his Geography class, cursing himself for having dawdled.

“Mr Feehily, just under the wire,” Ms Allen commented as he just about fell into his seat. “Thank you for joining us.” Mark gave her a breathless thumbs up. There was a titter of laughter. “Timothy Draper.” A hand lifted in assent. “Kian Egan.”

“Here.” Kian had just dashed into the room too. “Sorry. Late.”

“I hadn't noticed.” She gestured at the empty seat next to Mark. “Mark Feehily.”

“Here.” He smiled as Kian fell into his own seat, the chair squeaking on the floors with the force of his landing. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Kian muttered.

They didn't talk again for the rest of the lesson. At lunchtime he went to the music room, but Kian wasn't there.

He was walking away when he heard the clunk of the piano being opened.

He went to the window. It was starting up again, the same song, soft and delicate. Mark slid down the door, listening, not wanting to be seen. It was beautiful, slow and sad and so pretty, like something fragile that needed to be handled with care. By the time it was over he had his knees curled to his chest, his eyes closed while he tried to sink into it, not sure why he felt like this but sure he'd never felt like it before.

It ended. When Mark stood up to peek the room was empty again, the window still open.

He swallowed and headed back to class.

 

*

 

Mark was humming a song as they sat there on the sand, an arm around Kian's shoulders. Kian smiled, nuzzling into a perfect shoulder.

A lump filled his throat. Mark stopped humming.

“Don't cry.” It was whispered in his ear, soft. Kian shook his head and wiped away the tears that had started to spill without his consent.

“Sorry.” He forced a smile. “It's not you. I just...” He laughed slightly. Mark did too, sounding baffled. “Or maybe it is you, but in a good way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No idea.” He lifted his head for a kiss. “Sing it again for me, okay? It's perfect when you sing it.”

Mark held him tighter.

 

*

 

“Kian Egan!”

Kian jolted awake. Mark winced. He'd been trying to surreptitiously wake the other boy for the last few minutes, not wanting him to get in trouble while his slumber slowly became apparent to the rest of the class. First there had been one or two, students poking each other and pointing, until eventually the room had been full of muffled giggles.

So of course Mr Timmons had turned around to see what was funny.

“Er...”

“Would you like to explain why you're sleeping through my class?”

“Er...” Kian still looked groggy, not at all sure what was happening. Mr Timmons had crossed his arms, was glaring, and Kian was shaking his head, peering at the teacher through half-shut eyes. “Sorry?”

“Office. Now.”

“But...”

“Office.” That seemed to wake Kian up. He scooped up his bag clumsily, throwing it over his shoulder while a few people started to laugh more loudly now that the game was up. He was going red. He stormed from the room, head down, and Mark looked down at his desk as the rest of the class erupted into laughter.

Everything calmed down after a few minutes, and they got back to it. Mark could hear whispering, though, derisive comments. Weirdo. Freak. Mental. Mark kept his head down and tried to ignore it, not sure why there was a lump in his throat.

He went looking for Kian at lunch. The music room was empty again, and after a few laps of the school there was no luck. He wondered if Kian had been sent home, if he was in detention over lunch, maybe.

He was about to give up when the ladder around the side of the building began to rattle. He ducked behind the corner just as Kian clambered down, landing on the grass almost silently, knees bent.

He looked like he'd been crying.

“Kian...” Kian froze, turned around. Mark managed a weak smile.

“Would you leave me alone!” Kian snapped. “What are you, fucking stalking me?”

“I just...” He hesitated. “No. I mean... I... I'm sorry about what happened in class today. I did try to wake you, but...” Kian was still glaring at him. “I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I'm fine.” Kian was already walking away. Mark hurried after him. “What are you doing?”

“We're headed the same way. Back to class, I mean. Lunch is almost over, and...” Kian rolled his eyes. “Are you okay? Because sometimes I say I am when people ask, but I'm really really not and I just want to talk to someone, you know? So if that's what's happening, I can ask again and you can change your answer if you like...” He trailed off. Kian had stopped walking, was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Erm...”

“Were you dropped on your head or something?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Right.” A grimace twisted Kian's face, thought Mark thought he saw the glint of a smile in winter-blue eyes. “Are you mental, or what?”

“No. Just... me.” He shifted awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay,” Kian sighed. “Thank you for asking. Now you can go.” He shooed with both hands. “Off you go.”

“Oh. Right.” Mark swallowed, then took a chance. It wasn't like this could get any more ridiculous from here. “Do you want to sit together at lunch tomorrow?” Kian was staring at him.

“Why?”

“You know. To eat. Together.” He forced a smile. “It's just I don't know that many people yet and I know you don't really sit with anyone either, and maybe we could. Sit together.”

“You want to sit with me.”

“Yes please.” He looked up as the bell rang. “I usually go to the library, but if you want to hang out somewhere else, we could do that.” Kian was looking increasingly puzzled. “I usually have really good leftovers, if you want to share.”

“If I want to...” Kian was laughing. Just a little bit. He put a hand over his face, cheeks going slightly red as he snorted in something that might have been amusement. Mark giggled too, adjusting his backpack. “Oh my god, it's like you're broken,” Kian muttered.

“Maybe.” He blushed. Kian was still laughing. “Well, anyway. If you want to I could meet you here tomorrow.” They really needed to get moving. Mark had Irish, and Kian probably had a class to get to as well. “If not, that's cool.” Kian shook his head. “So... I'll see you round then.”

“I'll see you round,” Kian sighed, mirth still infecting his voice. “Bye, Mark.”

Mark said goodbye as well, and then he turned and began to jog to his class. Just before he turned the corner he glanced over to see Kian staring at him, a confused smirk still on his face.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Mark honestly didn't think Kian would show up that first day. He didn't see the other boy all morning, wondered if maybe he wasn't even at school that day, and by the time the bell rang for lunch he felt silly heading to the back of the school building, figured he'd be standing there like an idiot for the whole break if he let himself.

Which arguably wasn't much better than hiding in the toilets.

He was there fifteen minutes when Kian strode over, his head down in something that was either defensive or disinterested. Mark smiled warily.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” Kian looked up. His eyes were guarded. “Erm...” He looked around, scanning the field behind the school. “So what's the deal, then? You get me here and then your mates all jump me, or what? Because I really don't have time for...”

“No. No! God...” Mark let out a surprised laugh. “I wouldn't...” He smiled at Kian, who was still giving him an accusing look. “I don't have any mates to jump you with.”

“This is a dare then, or something. Did that prick Craig put you up to it?”

“I... don't know a Craig.” Mark shrugged. “I have leftover cottage pie.” He put down his bag and pulled the zip open. “It's cold, but it's still really nice. My mam's a great cook...” He dug out the tupperware container. “I have an extra fork if you want some?”

Kian stared at him for a long second, not speaking. Mark smiled back.

“Yeah, okay,” he said finally, sinking to the grass. Mark sat down facing him. He found the extra fork and passed it over, then put the tub between them. Kian picked at it a little, Mark tried to make conversation, and by the time the bell rang to go back in Kian had eaten more than he had and was laughing slightly while Mark waffled on about some dross to fill the silence.

The next day Kian was already there when Mark arrived. They ate leftover cold sausage and mash. Kian didn't talk much, but he seemed happy to listen, and Mark almost got a real smile out of him once or twice.

The third day was casserole. Mark handed him a fork.

“So, have you been playing piano long?"

Kian looked up, and had he been speaking before, Mark had the feeling he would have gone silent. His eyes narrowed slightly. Mark waited, guiding a forkful of stewed veg into his mouth.

“Sort of,” Kian said carefully. Mark nodded. “My mam played. She taught me a couple of songs.”

“Does she still?”

“No.” Kian put down the fork. “My mam's dead.”

“Oh.” Mark felt himself flush. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just... I didn't know. I didn't mean to...”

“It's fine. It was years ago.” Kian looked away. “She played piano at home a lot, when I was small. I never had any lessons or anything, I just liked to sit with her.”

“That's nice.”

“Yeah,” Kian mumbled. He picked up the fork again, stirring it disinterestedly around the container. There wasn't much left, just dregs.

“Does your dad play?”

“No idea,” Kian snorted. Mark looked back in surprise. “If you find him, you can ask him. He left when I was six.”

“Who do you live with then?”

“Why are you asking so many questions?” There was a glare furrowing Kian's brow. Mark flinched.

“I was just making conversation. I didn't mean to pry.”

“Yeah, well...” Kian shifted on the grass, leaning back slightly like he was trying to get further away, his arms stiff where they were propping him up. “I don't talk about my family.”

“Why not?” That definitely got a glare. “Okay. Sorry.” Mark was about to figure out what to say next, when the bell rang. Kian was already standing up. Mark followed, hurrying slightly to keep up, their only conversation the crunch of their feet on damp grass.

The next day was Friday. Mark sat on the grass by himself for the whole break, eating his lunch slowly so there would be some left in case Kian showed up. He didn't. When Mark went back to class Kian was sat at his desk, staring at his book silently. Mark didn't bother trying to make conversation. Kian obviously didn't want him to.

On Monday he was considering just leaving it and going back the library when Kian showed up, dumping his bag on the ground like he had a point to make.

“Hey.” He plonked down. Mark smiled.

“Hello.” He held out the tub. “Chicken salad?”

They didn't talk much. Mark didn't mind. Something about Kian was okay to be around, even in silence. Not that he was a great conversation partner, anyway, or even all that friendly, but there was something still about him. He didn't expect anything, didn't demand Mark jump through any of the usual social hoops. He just sat, shared Mark's lunch, and listened while Mark talked about nothing, nodding and smiling every now and then.

Mark was waffling on about the musical when Kian finally spoke more than two words in a row.

“Are you going to try out?” he said quietly. Mark looked up, surprised. They'd announced it over the weekend – a production of Grease to be performed in the winter. A couple of girls had been giggling about it in choir.

“I was thinking about it, yeah.” Mark smiled. “Are you?”

“No.” Kian snorted, like it was obvious.

“Can you sing?”

“Don't know. Maybe.”

“You don't know if you can sing?”

“I don't do it all that often.” Kian shrugged. “Can you sing?”

“Yes.”

“Conceited.” Kian's smirk was mocking, but his eyes were kind. Mark grinned awkwardly back. “How do I know if I can sing, then? Plenty of people probably think they can, but they're actually shit.”

“Sing something, and I'll tell you.”

“You're the expert?” Kian laughed. Mark shrugged. “No thanks.” He reached for the container Mark was holding. Mark handed it over. “What do you sing?”

“Everything. I'm in the church choir.” That got a snort. “But I like a lot of other stuff. R&B and pop and that.”

“I like metal.”

“I don't mind some of it,” Mark allowed, though it wasn't really his thing. “What are you listening to right now?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Well, what was the last CD you bought?”

“How would I know?” Kian rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, you don't shut up, do you?” Mark shrugged, laughing when he saw a grin sneak at Kian's mouth. “I feel like I'm filling out a form whenever I talk to you, like an application or something. Jesus.” Mark giggled.

“You ask me something, then.”

“Like what?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Nothing, really.” They both jumped as the bell rang. “That's your business, isn't it? It's nothing to do with me.” They both reached for their bags. Mark shrugged his on, while Kian just tossed his over one shoulder and bent to pick up the container from lunch. There was still a little soup in the bottom. “Do you mind if I finish this?”

“Go for it. I'm full.” Mark gestured at the container. “Give it back to me tomorrow if you want.”

“Cheers.” Kian paused, looking down into the tub as they began to walk. “You should try out for the musical, though,” he said finally. “If you get in, I might come see you, if I've got nothing better to do.”

Mark looked at him in surprise. Kian's head was still bowed, though his ears were going red. Mark smiled, looking down at the grass.

“I'll let you know,” he promised. “Only if you've got nothing else on.”

“Yeah.” Kian nodded. They made it to the side door, where their paths split. “I'll bring this back.” He lifted the container.

“No problem,” Mark agreed. “See you tomorrow?”

Kian was already walking down the hall, but as he turned he tossed a quick wave over his shoulder. Mark returned it, and headed in the other direction, a smile stretching his cheeks.

 

*

 

Being friends with Kian Egan was decidedly odd. They didn't talk in class, didn't hang out in their spare time, it was just at lunch. Sitting on the grass and sharing whatever Mark had brought. He realised he'd never seen Kian with his own lunch and already decided not to ask about it. Kian was guarded about his personal life, and Mark didn't mean to pry, it was just hard to carry on a conversation with someone who felt like half a person.

He liked Kian, though. Couldn't figure out why, exactly, except maybe it was that Kian didn't fuck around. Cover anything up with a fake smile and pretend to be your friend. He obviously didn't think he needed any friends, didn't appear to have any agenda.

He was just Kian.

Mark was there early one morning, eating breakfast under a tree, when he saw Kian climb in the music room window. By the time he walked over Kian was already sat at the piano, fingers picking carefully over the keys.

“Hey.” He smiled. Kian jumped, looked up, and after a searching moment gave Mark a tentative smile back. “You're here early.”

“Yeah, just...” He glanced down at the piano. “Killing time, you know?”

“You going to play something?”

“I don't know many songs.” Kian bit his lip, glancing down. “Do you know how to play?”

“Not a clue. I did ask if I could have lessons when I was younger, but my parents said it would get in the way of my schoolwork.” He nodded at the piano. “Play something for me?”

“I...” Kian shook his head, and closed the piano with a soft thunk. “No. It's fine.”

“What about that song you were playing the other day?”

“I'm not in the mood.” He stood up. Mark felt his heart sink with disappointment. He'd been looking forward to it, hearing Kian play, but the walls were back up and there was nothing he could do about that.

“Want to share my breakfast, then?”

“Okay.” Kian hoisted himself up over the sill and was dropping onto the grass beside him a moment later. Mark tore his banana bread in half and handed the bigger piece over. Kian took it, beginning to nibble on the corner. “Thanks. This is good,” he commented. Mark smiled.

“Any time.”

“I'd better go.” Kian finished the bread in three large bites, then stuffed his hands in his pockets, his voice a little muffled while he chewed. “Usual place for lunch, then?”

“I'll be there,” Mark promised.

 

*

 

They sat on the beach for a long time. There wasn't much else to do. They'd slept all afternoon, and neither of them were tired. They didn't have any money, certainly not enough to go splashing it around. When it started to get dark Mark went to get a packet of crisps from the convenience store up the hill and they sat there nibbling them, trying to make the bag last. When it was done they lay back on the sand, staring up at the stars.

“Kian?” Kian looked over. Mark's eyes were dark, reflecting moonlight.

“Yeah?”

“Are you scared?”

“I don't know,” Kian admitted. Scared was one of those odd emotions he didn't know how to approach any more. It felt small, and childish, and too simple. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Mark bit his lip. “My parents are going to kill me.”

“You're going back?”

He sighed. “I have to eventually, don't I? We can't just run for ever.”

“I can.” Kian caught his hand. “I'll go as far as I have to.”

“I'll come with you then.” Mark's smile was small, and trembling. Kian gripped his hand tighter, felt fingers curl into his and hang on.

 

*

 

The Hawks Well was packed. Mark hadn't known what to expect, but it seemed like half the town was here, certainly most of the people from the choir and from his music class at school. He'd prepared a song, just a Prince track that showcased his range a little bit. His heart was hammering. He was excited, though. He'd gotten up early, tried on about ten different shirts before heading out. His dad had absently wished him good luck.

“Hey.” Shane sat down beside him. Mark nodded. “What you singing?”

“Erm... Diamonds and Pearls.” He looked down at the lyrics in his hand. He didn't need them, but they made him feel better. More prepared, somehow. “You?”

“Uptown Girl.” Shane didn't look nervous at all. Mark envied him.

“Nice one. Which part you going for?”

“Gotta be Danny.” Shane winked. “Aim for the top, right? I'll be happy with anything, though. Should be a laugh.” He grinned. “If you get Kenickie we can be the T-Birds.” He punched Mark's shoulder.

“I don't know that I'm a Kenickie.”

“Not with that attitude,” Shane chuckled. They fell into silence, each going over their lyrics. Shane was mouthing his, closing his eyes every now and then like he was trying to cement them in there. “What are you singing?” he asked suddenly. “That's not Prince.”

“Oh...” Mark realised he'd been doing it again. Humming Kian's song without meaning to. “I don't know, actually. A friend was playing it and now I can't get it out of my head.”

“How's it go?” Mark started to hum it again. Shane was pursing his lips while the gears in his head visibly turned. “I think I know that one. It's an old Charlie Chaplin song. Michael Jackson did a cover of it.”

“Oh.” His dad hadn't been far off in thinking it was an old movie song. “Do you know what it's called?”

“Smile.” Shane nodded. “The lyrics are pretty, actually. It's quite sad, when you think about it. Like putting on a smile even when you're not happy inside, and hoping if you keep doing it things will get better. Smile... thought your heart is aching... smile even though it's breaking...” he started to sing it. That was the one, alright. Mark recognised the melody straight away.

“Mystery solved, I guess.” It didn't feel right Shane singing it. Mark wanted him to stop, suddenly, wanted Kian's version, slow and careful. “Thanks.”

“No bother.” Shane stood up. “I'm gonna find somewhere to practice my dance moves. Good luck, alright?”

“You too,” Mark agreed.

Shane wandered away. Mark stared back down at his lyric sheet, trying to read but only able to see long blonde hair draped over a creased forehead, fingers moving delicately across the keys.

He smiled to himself, beginning to hum again.

 

*

 

“Did you get the part?”

“Don't know yet.” They'd finished lunch already. Mark felt like he'd lost a little bit of weight over the last couple of months and hadn't been able to figure out why, until he'd realised he'd basically only been eating half of his lunch for that long.

Not that it was a bad thing, especially. A few girls were starting to notice him, which was something he hadn't had to deal with before. He didn't know that he was that excited about it, but Kian thought it was hilarious, kept joking that he'd better watch his drink in case one of them tried something. Mark had blushed in reply and told Kian to piss off, as if girls were interested in him.

“Well, they'd be fucking stupid not to put you in the show.”.

“Thanks.” That was high praise, as far as compliments from Kian went. “I'm trying to figure out what to do for the talent show, as well. Thinking I'll just sing a song.”

“You're going in that stupid thing?

“First prize is a hundred pounds,” he pointed out. “Could definitely use the money. You should try out too. You could play piano or something.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Kian rolled his eyes.

“Oh, well.” Mark let it go. Kian didn't react well to people arguing with him. “How did you go on the French test, anyway?”

“No idea. Probably failed.”

“You didn't study?”

“I'm just not good at it, alright?” Kian's eyes flashed anger for a moment. Mark raised his hands in defeat.

“Would you like some help?”

“Why? If I'm shit, I'm shit.”

“You won't know if you don't try,” Mark pointed out. “And you're not shit. I was struggling a bit in maths, and my parents got me some help. It made it loads easier.” He nudged Kian's knee lightly with his fist. “Why don't you come round on the weekend and we can study or something?”

“To your house?” Mark nodded. “No.” Kian was looking shy, suddenly. He was hard to judge, shuffled through so many emotions, all of them peering out from behind a defensive shell.

“Why not?”

“I have work.”

“You have a job?” Kian nodded. “Where at?”

“At the garage, just on weekends and after school sometimes.” Kian shrugged. “Maybe we can look at it at lunch tomorrow, though? Then if I'm useless you haven't wasted your time.” He grimaced.

“You're not useless.” He touched Kian's knee again, squeezed it gently. “That's what friends are for, anyway. Helping each other out.”

“Friends,” Kian muttered. Mark nodded.

“Friends.” He squeezed Kian's knee again before he let go. Kian didn't look at him. “Come over mine on the weekend after work, if you want. We can just hang out, or something, and if we study, we study. If not, that's cool too. We can just watch TV or whatever, or see if there's anything on at the cinema.”

“I'll think about it.” Kian was already standing up.

The bell was about to ring. Mark began to pack up his things too.

“Let me know,” he urged. “Really.”

“I'll think about it,” Kian said again. They began to move, falling effortlessly into step. For a wild, ridiculous moment Mark had the sudden urge to reach out and take Kian's hand, and wasn't at all sure where it had come from. By the time the urge passed they were separating anyway, making for their individual classes.

Mark looked over his shoulder, wanting to catch Kian's eyes, but instead there was a stiff gait and retreating back, Kian's head bowed low as he headed for the stairs.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't know what was going to happen when he asked Kian over, honestly expected him not to show up on Saturday. They hadn't gotten to sit together on Friday – Kian had detention for being an hour late to school – but Mark had passed him a note during French with his address written on it, had watched Kian fold it quickly and shove it into his pocket.

It was past three when there was a knock at the front door.

“I'll get it.” He was out of his seat and moving before anyone else had a chance to. His mother looked up in surprise. When Mark pulled open the door Kian was stood there in worn jeans and a black t-shirt, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hey.” Mark nodded. He'd not seen Kian out of his school uniform before, and was surprised to notice that he was actually quite fit, without the badly fitting jumper. Strong arms and shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist. If he'd been anyone else he'd probably have girls after him, with his long hair and cute face. It wasn't likely, though, with a defensive scowl always painted on it.

“Hey.” Kian scratched his hair. “So... I didn't know what time.”

“Now's fine.” Mark glanced back over his shoulder. “Come in? Mam won't mind.” Well, she might, Mark having friends over unexpectedly, but she wasn't about to say that to Kian's face. The lecture could wait until later.

Kian followed him in. Mark introduced him to his parents, not sure what to expect, but Kian was perfectly polite, shook his dad's hand and nodded at his mam. They got a couple of cokes from the fridge and headed to Mark's room.

“I like your room.”

Mark looked up. Kian was stood in the middle of the floor, looking around. He rearranged it a lot, moving around posters and furniture. It never seemed to be quite the way he wanted it, or it was for about a week before he realised the bed would be better over there, actually.

“Thanks. It's a work in progress.” He reached for his backpack and began to dig out his notebooks. “So, do you want to work on French, or?”

“Sure.” Kian sat down on the bed, reached into his backpack. A scruffy notebook came out. Mark sat down next to him.

It was tough going, trying to study with Kian. His notes were sparse at best, so messy they were almost illegible. Mark was trying, but Kian was defensive, would start to shut down the moment it looked like he didn't understand something or was finding it too difficult. After about an hour he closed his book, his cheeks red and eyes frustrated.

“Told you I was shit,” he muttered.

“You were doing alright.” Mark nudged him. “We can take a break, if you want, work on it again later.” He put his own book back in his bag and grabbed out another one. “If you need help with Maths or Geography, we can do that. I'm not in your English, but I can probably help with that too. What are your other subjects?”

“I do Art and Construction.”

“I don't do those.” Mark shrugged. “Do you like them?”

“They're fine.”

“What do you want to do after school, then?”

“Don't know.” Kian was looking wary again, a little defensive. “Probably just keep working at the garage or something.”

“Do you want to do that? Like, for a career?”

“I don't know. It's a job.”

“You don't have like... a passion, or?” Kian was raising an eyebrow. “Okay, sorry,” Mark laughed, defeated. “Too many questions?” Kian rolled his eyes. “Would you like another coke?"

“Sure.” There was a laugh in Kian's voice, small and frustrated. Mark smiled back. Kian stood up. “Where's your bathroom?”

Mark showed him quickly, then headed downstairs to the kitchen. His parents were on the couch, watching television, his brothers out playing in the backyard.

“Nice lad,” his dad commented.

“Yeah. He's fine. I said I'd help him with his French.” Mark reached for a couple of cold cans from the fridge. “He's having a bit of trouble with the new stuff and we've got a test coming up.”

“You're not letting him distract you?”

“No. It's helping actually, giving me a refresher while I show him.” There were some biscuits in the cupboard too. He grabbed the packet. “We might go out and see a film if we finish early, if that's okay?”

“I thought you were studying.”

“Yeah, but, you know.” Mark shrugged. “It'll be fun.”

“Be home before nine, then,” his dad allowed.

“I'm not going to get kidnapped, dad,” he laughed. “It's cool.” He heard the toilet flush upstairs, feet thud down the hallway above his head. “He's my friend.”

 

*

 

They had a nice time at the cinema. Kian didn't have any money, so Mark ended up paying. He didn't mind. He got Kian a popcorn as well, though Kian argued that he shouldn't, and it was a good afternoon all round. Afterwards he bought them both ice-cream, and joked that this was practically a date, if Kian wanted to be walked to his door. Kian replied that Mark could walk as far as his street, but anything else would have to wait for the second date or people might talk.

He could feel Kian loosening up a little. By the time Mark left him he was almost chatty, laughing quietly and replying in whole sentences, actually starting conversations himself and talking about the film.

“Thanks. For today,” he said. Mark nodded.

“No problem. Let me know if you want any more help with your verbs. They can be a real pain in the arse.”

“I... yeah. I'll look over it again tonight.” Kian actually smiled. “I have to get going, but...” He glanced over his shoulder, up his street. They actually didn't live too far away from each other, maybe only half an hour's walk. “If I have trouble can I call you, maybe?”

“Absolutely.” Kian was starting to go a little bit red. “My parents go to bed around ten, but any earlier than that should be fine. I'll still be up.”

“Okay.” He hesitated, looked like he was about to say something else, then shook his head. “Okay, bye, so.”

Mark waved him goodbye and walked the rest of the way home.

Monday morning he got to school early, hoping Kian was in the music room. Silly, probably, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. Had set his alarm almost an hour earlier and headed out, telling his parents he was looking to use the library before school. When he arrived, though, the school was practically deserted. He sat down near the window to wait.

Half an hour later he heard the ladder on the other side of the building rattle.

It wasn't loud, maybe the wind, but when he sidled around the building there was Kian, already near the top and climbing steadily. As Mark watched he hauled himself over the edge of the roof and disappeared.

Mark hesitated. It was quite high. Very high, actually. Still, this was a mystery, and curiosity was like a leash, tugging him forward until he was settling his hands on the rungs, lifting one foot experimentally to see if it would take his weight. It was sturdy, though, strong, and he began to climb, moving hand over hand and trying his absolute best not to look down.

By the time he reached the top the wind was tugging at his clothes. It was cold, and he was hanging on tighter, far too high up to land safely if he fell. There were only three rungs left and he moved up slowly, poking his head over the edge.

He couldn't see Kian. Letting go of the last rung was terrifying, but he did it carefully, rested his hand on the bricks and struggled up. Then he was over and onto the roof, the wind howling in his ears.

“Kian?”

He heard scuffling around a chimney stack and edged over, keeping low to stay out of the wind. When he turned the corner Kian was sat cross-legged on the ground. He looked up, startled.

“What are you doing?”

“Hey.” Mark scratched his neck awkwardly. Kian was glaring at him. “Sorry. Just...” He didn't know what he intended to say. That he hadn't meant to, maybe. Hadn't meant to climb three stories on a rickety service ladder, had just stumbled up by accident. Kian was still glaring at him. “Hi.”

Kian looked at him warily. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I...” He glanced down at Kian's hands, which were cupped carefully in front of him. “Is that...” He edged back a little bit. He'd never been comfortable around birds. Couldn't explain why, except something about them had always made him uneasy, the way snakes did other people.

“It's none of your business.”

“Kian...” He dropped carefully into a crouch, looking at the small bundle of feathers in cupped hands. As he watched a beak poked out, beady little eyes. It was so small, grown into its adult feathers but with fluffy brown tufts sticking out in between.

“He's learning to fly,” Kian said softly. Mark shook his head, laughing in disbelief. When Kian looked up it was with a careful smile.

“Where's his mother?”

He let go of the sparrow. It fluttered hopefully, then landed, hopped a few times before starting to peck at the edge of the chimney. Kian crawled further around the corner, and when Mark followed he was surprised to find a neat wooden birdhouse set against the bricks, out of the wind. As he watched a small head poked out, then another. The little bird Kian had been holding hopped past, flapped a couple of times, and managed to struggle it's way back into the hole.

“Did you make this?” Kian shrugged. “Is this why you were stealing tools from woodshop?”

“How do you know about that?” Kian's eyes were accusing, then they softened. “I was going to put them back.”

“Did you say what they were for?”

“No.” Kian shook his head. “They've been trying to stop birds nesting in the roof for years. I didn't want them to call the exterminators or something. You...” He bit his lip. “You won't tell anyone, will you?”

“No, course not. How long have you...”

“Since last year. I found one with a broken leg. She's...” He gestured at the house, where another larger sparrow was poking her head out to peck at a ragged feeding bell hung above the door. “I found a book in the library about what to do. I thought she was going to die, but...” He smiled slightly. “There's five of them, now, the main ones anyway, though there's a bunch of others that come and go. There were eggs a few weeks ago. The little guy's new.”

“Does he have a name?”

“No. None of them do. I mean, they probably have bird names or something, but it's not really my job to tell them what they're called.” Mark sank down cross-legged next to him, not able to believe it. Kian reached into his bag and pulled out a little container, shook the contents into his hand. Crickets, Mark realised. Live ones. One of the birds was landing in Kian's hand a second later to peck happily at the twitching insects.

“Where did you get those?”

“Lifted them from the pet store. You want to try?”

“No thanks,” he said quickly. This one was small and not doing very much, but he didn't like the idea of it touching him. “Not a fan of birds. I'll watch, though.

“Wimp.” Kian moved slightly. A second later the sparrow was hopping up onto Kian's shoulder, looking warily at Mark. He had to stop himself letting out a surprised laugh. “Stay still, okay? She doesn't know you yet.” Kian was watching intently, eyes almost fond. Mark looked back, not interested in the bird all of a sudden, but unable to tear his gaze from Kian. He looked beautiful, oddly content for the first time since they'd known each other.

“That's amazing.”

“Please don't tell anyone.”

“I won't. I promise.” It was starting to get late. The bell would be ringing soon.

They climbed down carefully, glancing at the ground every few seconds in case someone came around to catch them. Mark was glad when his feet were on solid ground. Kian dropped down next to him, landing with a crunch on the grass.

 

*

 

They went to the McDonalds the next morning to use the bathroom and get a couple of coffees. Kian had a wash in the sink while Mark went to the counter. There was sand all in his clothes and he needed to change his t-shirt, was a bit smelly from being in the same clothes for over twenty-four hours. When he came out he felt a little better and Kian was curled up in a booth with their coffees and a couple of hash-browns. There was a TV on in the corner, playing the morning news.

They stayed there a while. There was nowhere else to go, they didn't have to be at the ferry for over an hour, and it was warm and bright in here. Mark took Kian's hand under the table. He smiled back.

“A Sligo teenager has been reported missing.” They both looked up. Mark's school picture was on the TV. Kian felt his mouth go dry. “His parents discovered his bed empty early yesterday morning and he has not been seen in over twenty-four hours. It is believed he may be with classmate Kian Egan, also sixteen, who is currently wanted for questioning.”

“Fuck,” Mark breathed, as they brought up a picture of the car and read out the plate number.

“Police are treating his disappearance as suspicious. If you have any information, please call Crimestoppers.”

Mark was pale. Kian held his hand tighter.

“What do we do?”

“Move slowly,” Kian decided. He pulled his cap out of his bag and passed it to Mark, shrugged up the hood of his jacket. “No-one really notices those things, right? We give it two minutes, and then we leave.”

“The car...”

“Go back, grab everything you can carry.” They couldn't take the car on the ferry. No way. It was too risky now. “We're backpackers, alright? Just taking a little trip across the sea. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” Mark echoed. He swallowed. Kian could see a nervous shiver running under his skin. “Kian, I'm sor...”

“It's not your fault.” Kian stood. “Come on.”

 

*

 

“Patty Simcox...” The director read down the list in her hand. It was packed in the Hawks Well. Shane had called him that morning to remind him that the parts were being announced that day. It wasn't like Mark had forgotten, he'd been counting down all week.

A girl squealed as her name was announced, and was out of her seat in a moment, running up to get her copy of the script. They were stacked on a table on the stage, and the pile was getting smaller. Most of the T-Birds and Pink Ladies had already been assigned. Kenickie went to a boy Mark recognised from his Maths class.

“Teen Angel.” She paused. “Mark Feehily.”

“Holy shit!” Shane shoved him, laughing. “Congratulations, man!”

“Thanks, I...” His legs were numb as he staggered to the stage. The script had his name on it. He held it to his chest, not able to believe it, wanting to call Kian straight away and tell him.

“Danny Zuko; Shane Filan.”

“Yes!” Shane cheered. He dashed past before Mark could congratulate him. A couple of girls clapped. Mark wondered which one Shane would be trying it on with first.

When he got home his parents were in. He told them he'd gotten the part, that they'd be doing Grease at the Hawks Well in a few months. They congratulated him, and then asked if rehearsals were going to interfere with his exams. He tried not to feel deflated. They did seem happy for him, after all.

Kian called half an hour later to see how it had gone. When Mark told him he swore out loud and then said he'd known all along, that he would have kicked some heads in if Mark hadn't gotten it.

They talked for over an hour. When Mark hung up, finally, he went upstairs to study, not wanting to give his parents a reason to stop him from being in the play.

Kian called again twenty minutes after that and asked if he wanted to meet somewhere to celebrate.

Mark was dressed and running out the door before his parents had a chance to say no.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The Carlton Cafe was busy. Lunchtime on a weekend after all, and they sidled in together, looking for a table. There didn't appear to be one. Kian shrugged, and they both turned around, about to leave.

“Mark!” He looked up. Shane Filan, behind the counter. Mark waved back. He hadn't known Shane worked here. They hadn't really talked about much except for music and girls, though Shane had been mostly carrying the second conversation. It wasn't that Mark didn't like girls, they were nice enough, but none had really caught his eye so he hadn't much dwelt on it. He was usually too busy with school and Kian anyway, and he never knew what to say to them. “You want a table?”

“Er...” Mark glanced around. They were all occupied. “If there's one free?”

“Two minutes.” Shane gestured them over, glancing curiously at Kian. “What'll you have? Number four are about to leave. I'll clear it for you.”

They placed their orders quickly. Kian paid. Mark was surprised, even more so when Kian dug a handful of badly crumpled notes from his pocket and began to carefully count through them. They barely came to the total. Mark wished he hadn't ordered so much, but it was too late for that now.

“You didn't have to do that,” he said once they were sat down. Kian grimaced.

“It's your celebration, right? I wanted to...” He looked away, blushing, and Mark had the sudden urge to take his hand under the table. He couldn't figure out what it was. Kian was rude, defensive, was like talking to a brick half the time, but when that facade broke there was a surprisingly kind, thoughtful person under there. Mark wasn't sure what his deal was, suspected there was probably a lot going on in Kian's home life that he didn't understand, but Mark didn't mind that, except that he wanted to help. To protect Kian, the way Kian had protected the sparrows on the roof.

“Thanks. I'll get the next one,” Mark promised. Kian hitched a shoulder and stared down at the table, ears going slightly red.

Kian excused himself to the bathroom a few minutes later. Mark watched him go, then looked up as Shane wandered over, looking too casual to be genuine.

“Hey.” Mark nodded. Shane was leaning against the table, giving him a curious look. “What's up?”

“You're friends with Kian?”

“Yeah.” He felt himself rankle slightly, wondering if this was going to be another one of those bad seed, watch your back lectures. Not that he'd been given one, but there was enough talk at school.

“Er... right.” Shane tilted his head. “Well, things have changed since I was at school, then. It's the first time I think I've seen him actually hang out with someone.” He sidled into the booth, sitting down. Mark glanced towards the toilets. “He alright?”

“Yeah, he's fine,” Mark shrugged. “Why? Were you friends or something?”

“Sort of. When we were kids, we were kind of close. We lived quite near each other, so we'd like, ride our bikes and that, but...” He shrugged. “After the fire he sort of closed off. Didn't go out or anything. Then by the time we got to highschool I guess we were in different circles and he was in trouble all the time, so...” He looked almost apologetic. “Well, I'm glad he's got a friend, then.”

“Fire?”

“Yeah.” Shane shook his head. “One of those freak things. Faulty wiring or something. His mam and the other kids didn't get out, but Kian carried his sister through the back. She wasn't even two, at the time.”

“Kids?”

“Kian's brothers and sisters.” Mark was surprised. Kian had never mentioned any siblings. “He didn't tell you? Six of them all up. It was awful. The whole town were leaving flowers and stuff for weeks. Their uncle took on Kian and Marielle, but you know.”

“They're really awful to Kian at school,” Mark said quietly. He checked the toilet door, didn't want Kian coming back and finding them talking about it.

“People forget.” Shane shrugged. “And he doesn't help himself. Not to say he should get over it, but sympathy only holds out so long when you actually have to be around people.” The toilet door swung open. Shane stood up. “Here.” He pressed Kian's money back into Mark's hand. “It's on me.” Mark was about to argue, but Shane was already headed back to the counter.

Kian sank back into the booth, glancing warily at Shane's retreating back.

“What were you talking about?”

“Oh, just the musical.” Mark shoved the money in his pocket. He'd sort that out later, when Shane wasn't around. Kian nodded, and Mark was surprised to see something like jealousy flash in his eyes. They both looked up as Shane slid two milkshakes and a basket of chips onto the table.

“On the house.” He smiled at Mark. Kian stiffened. “Kian, I haven't seen you in forever, man. How you been?”

“Alright,” Kian said carefully, reaching for a chip. “Fine.”

“Cool.” Shane nodded. “We should hang out sometime, okay? Catch up. Mark too.” He glanced between them. “I have to get back to work, but it was good seeing you.”

“Yeah. You too.” Kian looked completely baffled. Mark wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Kian reached for another chip as Shane wandered away, cheeks pink. Mark still wanted to take his hand under the table. “What was that about?” he mumbled.

“Couldn't tell you.” Mark slid his milkshake closer. “Want to go see a movie after this?”

 

*

 

Hanging out with Kian was maybe the best part of Mark's day. Ridiculous, probably, but there was something about being in Kian's presence that calmed him somehow, made all the stress and studying not seem as important by comparison. He started going to rehearsals for the musical, but often he'd tell his parents that they finished later than they did and go to see Kian afterwards, would meet him in town or down near the woods somewhere, and they'd just... be.

He knew people were whispering. Weird new kid hanging out with the freak, but he couldn't be bothered to care. When Kian had walked past on the way home and Mark had decided to sod the bus and walk with him, he'd heard other kids gossiping in hushed tones as they'd hopped the fence and headed down the hill. They gotten strange looks, and a couple of times the teachers looked surprised when people were asked to pair off for work and Mark headed straight to Kian.

It was a bright Sunday afternoon when he went to meet Kian to study. They'd started doing it down at Hazelwood after Kian finished work. It was pretty there, quiet, and they'd usually find a spot off the path to sit and go over their notes. It was better than doing it in his room, anyway, bent over a book under a desk-lamp.

He was running a little late that afternoon. Rehearsals had run longer than expected. The talent show was only a couple of weeks away as well, and he was still trying to decide on a song to sing, was leaning towards something Michael Jackson still but hadn't quite made up his mind. Kian said he was getting sick of hearing Mark talk about it, but from the way he smiled Mark didn't think he minded, actually.

Kian wasn't there either when he arrived, so Mark leaned against a tree to wait. Ten minutes later and still no sign he wasn't sure if he should leave or not, decided to give it five minutes just in case.

He was pacing slightly, absently toeing the dirt, when he heard voices.

There was a laugh. A couple of them, then a shout and a series of whoops. Mark headed towards them, figuring there was no harm in checking things out.

He rounded the trees. There was a cluster of boys, four of them, in a circle on their bikes. When they moved slightly he saw Kian in the middle.

“Come on, Egan, you gonna hit me?” one of them goaded. Mark swallowed. Kian's face was red, eyes on the ground and hands clenched into fists. “Course you're not, you fucking coward.”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” he heard Kian growl. When he looked up slightly Mark saw eyes bright with tears.

“Ah, he won't,” one of the others teased. “Look, he's just gonna cry, the little queer. You gonna cry, queer?” The others laughed. “Good thing your mam's dead, eh? Reckon she'd be pretty disappoin...”

He didn't even get the last word out before Kian was lunging at him. Bike and rider clattered to the ground, Kian on top, and there was laughter as the other boys climbed off their own bikes and pulled Kian off, his fists flailing as he tried to hit the boy on the ground, who was a little dirty but looked unhurt.

“Hold him, lads.” He stood back up, cocked a fist.

“Kian,” Mark called out. The other boys looked up. He didn't know what to do, heart hammering in his throat and knowing he could never win if it turned into a physical fight. Kian was still struggling, but he looked up at Mark, shame and anger heavy in his gaze. “Are you coming or what? We're all waiting for you in the car.” He glanced back over his shoulder, tilting his head slightly. “I'm coming, dad!” he called. “Just waiting for Kian!”

One of the boys let go of Kian, the others too, looking warily at Mark. Mark didn't know if they believed him, but they looked like they didn't want to take the chance just in case. There was a spatter of gravel as they got back on their bikes and were gone, shirts flapping in the breeze as they rounded the corner.

“Kian.” He hurried over, dropped to his knees beside his friend. “You okay?”

“Don't...” He was surprised when he was shoved away. Kian struggled to his feet. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were glassy, mouth pulled into a trembling frown. Mark stood up and pulled him into a hug. Felt him fight it for a moment before relaxing, shaking in Mark's arms.

“Are you hurt?” He felt Kian shake his head against his chest, and decided never to be late again, no matter what was holding him up.

They ended up leaving Hazelwood, Mark figuring they'd better make themselves scarce just in case those boys came back. They walked for a while in silence. Kian didn't appear to want to talk about it, but eventually they found a spot in a field beneath a large tree and sat down.

“So, did you want to do Maths or something?” Kian mumbled. Mark shook his head.

“I don't really feel like studying.” Kian looked away. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” Kian's voice was flat and hard. “I'd be fine if everyone could just leave me alone.”

“Including me?” Mark said hesitantly. He watched Kian chew his lip for a long moment, hands fidgeting. Finally, he looked up.

“No,” he whispered. “You can stay. I just...” He swallowed. Tears were welling in his eyes again.

Mark sidled closer and pulled him into a hug.

His shoulder was damp within seconds, Kian shuddering in his arms. He was warm, strong, soft underneath it all, and Mark tugged him closer, resting his chin on the top of Kian's head and trying to hold him in tight, protect him.

He held Kian for a long time.

 

*

 

Rehearsals were great fun. A month or so in and it was probably the best part of Mark's week, apart from hanging out with Kian. It felt easier than school, freer somehow. Except for the couple of Summerhill kids most of the cast were strangers, a lot around his own age or a little older. Everyone was friendly, more put together somehow without the pettiness at school, like they were all in this thing as a team.

He made a few friends. Hung out with Shane, mostly, but after the first weeks the two of them had a little circle with a few of the girls and a couple of the other boys. They'd go for burgers after, or just hang around outside the Hawks Well and have a chat. It was nice to feel included, though he did feel bad the couple of times he had to tell Kian he couldn't that afternoon, actually, and maybe they'd see each other at school the next day.

Kian had said yeah, obviously, whatever, but for a moment Mark had seen hurt in his eyes But when he said he could cancel, that they could hang out if Kian wanted, Kian had said of course not, that he had other plans anyway, had meant to cancel himself but Mark had beaten him to it.

He was hanging around in the Record Room with Shane and a couple of the others after rehearsals one evening when Shane called him over to one of the racks.

“Wasn't this the song you were looking for?” He held it up. Mark glanced at the back. There it was. A compilation of classic songs, though the version on here was by Nat King Cole.

“Is it the same one?”

“Think so.” Shane headed over to the counter. “Hey, Robbie, this version, right?” He held it up. “Is this the one Michael Jackson covered?” Robbie confirmed that it was. Shane brought it back. “There we go. Mystery solved.”

“Can I listen to it?” Robbie said that he could, unwrapped it and put it into the listening station in the corner. Mark pulled the headphones on.

That was definitely it. More orchestral than Kian's version, but definitely the same tune. He considered buying it, maybe making Kian a gift of it or something. Christmas was still months away, but he could hang on to it, maybe. He didn't think Kian had a copy, or if he did he hadn't mentioned it. It wasn't too expensive.

He tucked his purchase in his jacket on the way out. Shane had picked up a couple of CDs as well, though Mark suspected that was more because Stacey, one of the girls, had been talking about them in the shop and he wanted to impress her. They wandered off together when they all parted ways, so Mark figured it had probably worked out for the best.

He played the song when he got home. Meant to listen to the rest of the CD, but just ended up putting Smile on repeat, liking it more and more every time he heard it. It was sad, but hopeful at the same time, simple and beautiful.

He listened to it all evening while he studied, and after everyone had gone to bed he turned it on low and listened to it again, curled up in the dark and thinking of Kian, and wishing he was here to listen to it too.

 

*

 

“You'll come, though?”

“I said I would,” Kian laughed. The talent show was the next night, and Mark was nervous. Knew he could do it, of course, but it was that prickly moment before stepping out on stage, not knowing how it would go, that always put him on edge.

“You really will, though?”

“I really, really will.” His parents were coming as well. They both seemed excited for him, which was nice. His mam had asked what he was going to sing, but he'd just said it was a surprise.

It was, too. Just not for them.

He'd managed to find the sheet music, had gotten it ordered in at the local music shop, and had been practicing all week, had given it to their music teacher, who was acting pianist for the night. She'd laughed and said she hadn't heard that song in years. They'd gone over it a couple of times to get the pitch right, and it had been perfect.

He really hoped Kian would like it.

“What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Not much. Babysitting.” Kian didn't say more. He'd mentioned once or twice that he had a little sister, but nothing about... the rest of it. Mark didn't ask. It was private, obviously painful, and there was no point upsetting Kian.

“How old's your sister?”

“Eleven.” Kian took one of the brownies from Mark's lunchbox. “Just turned eleven.”

“Did she have a nice birthday?”

“I guess.” Kian shrugged.

“What did you get her?”

“I took all of your questions, put them in a box, and set it on fire.” Kian scowled. Mark shoved him gently, laughing. “I got her a book, okay?”

“Which book?”

“One with pages.” Kian rolled his eyes. “It had a cover, and words.”

“No way.”

“Way.” They smirked at each other. Kian pointed at the last brownie. “Mind if I have this?”

“Go for it.”

“Thanks.” Kian took it, was about to bite into it, and then hesitated. Mark watched him break it in half and hold out the other bit. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Mark took it. “How are the birds, by the way?”

“Good. Haven't been up there much, but...” He shrugged. “They sort of take care of themselves. The baby's flying really well.” He looked up. Not that you could see anything from here. Mark had seen a few sparrows pecking around the place, but hadn't known if they were the same ones or not. They all looked the same. “I took them some bugs as a treat last week.”

“Ew.”

“Well, I didn't get them for you,” Kian pointed out. “Mmm... maggots. Delicious.” He shoved the brownie half in his mouth, then grinned, his teeth a grotesque mash of brown slick.

“You're disgusting.”

“Yeah.” He closed his mouth again, licked his teeth, then smiled again. Mark smiled back.

“Kian?”

“Yeah?”

Mark didn't know what he'd meant to say. How to say it without being weird. That Kian was his best friend, that in some strange way Mark loved him a little. For what he was, for how fragile he was underneath it all. For the way he looked when he finally laughed, and when he let Mark in, even slightly.

“Erm,” he said instead. Kian was still looking at him expectantly. “We've got a Maths quiz this afternoon. Did you want to study?”

“Sure.” Kian reached for his bag. Mark did as well, blushing slightly when Kian gave him a little grin.

 

*****

 

Kian was glad they'd ditched the car. When they got to the ferry there was a guard at the line, and it appeared they were checking license plates. Probably just protocol, or whatever, registering the cars onboard, but there was almost no security when they walked on instead. They just paid cash, flashed their tickets, and found somewhere to sit.

Mark took his hand.

A seagull cackled. They looked up, saw a couple swooping and diving, inspecting the deck for food. Kian held Mark's hand tighter. Mark had never liked birds. It was a weird thing to be frightened of, but it was cute watching him while he pretended to put on a brave face for Kian's sake.

“You want to go inside?”

“No.” Mark shifted a little closer, though. Kian kissed his cheek.

“You big wimp.”

“Yeah.” Mark turned to look at him. Kian rubbed their noses together, saw the hint of a smile. “You'll protect me?”

“From the big, scary seagulls? You bet.” Kian kissed him gently. Saw a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of some woman making a shocked face and herding her children away. He ignored them. He wasn't going to hide, not any more.

Mark drew him into another kiss.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Kian wasn't here yet.

Mark stood in the wings of the stage, chewing his fingernails. His family was here. They'd all driven in together, his little brothers arguing on either side of him in the back seat and his parents telling them idly to calm themselves down, they'd be there soon.

It was two minutes until show time and Kian wasn't here yet.

“What's your talent?” a girl in a tophat and tails asked. She was doing a magic trick, obviously, was standing beside a table on wheels with a wand sat atop the velvet tablecloth.

“I'm singing.” He put a hand on his chest to slow his heart. He was on towards the end, at least. Plenty of time for Kian to arrive.

Half an hour later and Kian still wasn't here yet.

He snuck out of the wings when the girl with the magic show was on and scanned the crowd. He was on next. Kian had to be...

He felt his heart flutter when he saw the door at the back creak open, a shape slip in. It was Kian. Of course it was. He knew that silhouette like the back of his hand. Kian pushed blonde hair out of his eyes, sidled into a seat near the back.

The spotlight was bright. Mark stepped out to lukewarm applause, a polite reminder that most people were only here to support their friends or kids. He couldn't see Kian up the back, but he couldn't see much of anything.

The first notes seemed way too loud and way too quiet at the same time. He swallowed, closed his eyes, tried to focus.

“Smile... though your heart is aching...”

By the time the first verse was over he'd hit his stride. He wished he could see Kian's expression. It wasn't a long song, but time seemed to stretch out while he drifted in the sound of tinkling piano, sure he could feel the song somewhere in his chest, swelling out.

“If you just smile...”

There were applause. He'd known he'd done that well, tried not to laugh nervously as he headed back off again. He was down the side and making for the back of the hall as soon as he was clear, looking for Kian, wanting to know.

He was halfway there, slinking down the wall, when he saw the door at the back open and Kian head out.

He moved faster. Trust Kian just to come for him and go back into his shell, not even hang around to see him after. He slipped out the door a few seconds after Kian, looked around to see him disappear around the corner, footsteps clipped and purposeful.

“Kian,” he called out, not wanting them to miss each other. The footsteps kept going, echoing back up the hall. “Kian, hey...” He sped around the corner, skidding a little, and grabbed Kian's shoulder spinning him around.

“Fuck off,” Kian growled. There were tears on his cheeks, his eyes red.

“I...” Mark froze in surprise. Kian started walking again. “What's wrong?”

“Fuck _off_ , Mark.” He was practically running. “You don't...” He shook his head, speeding up again. Mark raced after him, reaching out. Kian shrugged his hand away. Mark grabbed him again.

“Kian...” Kian shoved him away. “I thought you'd like it.”

“You had no _right_ ,” Kian spat. “It doesn't _belong_ to you. It...” He tore away again. “No.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't know...”

“You _don't_ know.” Mark caught his arm again, spun him around. Kian shoved him. Mark shoved back, then grabbed him, pulling him in tight, not wanting him to run again. “You don't... It's not _yours_ and I...”

“I'm sorry,” Mark breathed. Kian sobbed. “I'm sorry.” He ducked his head, tried to say something.

Kian kissed him.

He froze. Didn't mean to, except there wasn't much else to do, his brain shuddering to a halt as lips pressed hard to his, awkward and unpracticed and earnest.

Kian drew away slowly, licking his lips.

“Fuck.” He wiped his eyes. “Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't...”

Mark didn't know what he was going to say, but before he had the chance Kian was off and sprinting down the hall.

“Kian...” He couldn't move.

Couldn't...

He made himself take a step. Then another. A moment later he was running, chasing the echo of footsteps down the hallway.

He caught Kian as they were passing the bathrooms, grabbed his arm. Kian was quicker, but Mark had longer legs and a longer reach. He felt Kian struggle, pulled him sideways, and then they were in the bathroom, the lights too bright against the tiles and Kian's tears standing out like stars.

“Ki, I'm...” He swallowed hard. Kian wouldn't look at him. Mark didn't know what the hell to say.

So he kissed Kian instead.

It broke awkwardly. Kian was staring at him, suddenly, and in the time it had taken their hands had entwined, somehow. Kian was breathing hard, looked cracked at the edges, like a broken vase that had barely been glued back together. Mark bit his lip.

“I'm sorry,” Kian whispered.

“Me too.” He cupped Kian's cheek, couldn't think what else to do. “I thought... I thought you'd like it.”

“I did.” He'd stopped crying, but his cheeks were still wet. “I...” He was moving closer. Or maybe Mark was. Or maybe it didn't matter. There was an echo of applause from somewhere down the hall. The show was almost over. “It's not fair. It's...” He gulped. This time Mark was definitely the one leaning in.

They connected. Mark felt the soft whine more than he heard it. Fingers curled around the back of his neck, Kian's breath filling his mouth, and he was done. Drowned in warmth and touch. Had never considered doing this, never for a moment, but...

The kiss broke. Kian stared up at him. Mark didn't know what to say.

“Erm...”

“Yeah,” Kian agreed. “So.”

“So.”

He started to laugh, couldn't help himself. After a moment Kian did too.

 

*

 

Mark came second to a girl who did a gymnastics routine, flipping and bending herself in half and balancing on one hand and all sorts of mad stuff. He took his prize of a bookstore gift certificate, and stepped down off the stage, blushing a little at the round of applause. His parents hugged him and suggested he could use it on textbooks for the next term.

Kian left after it was announced. He clapped, waved excitedly when Mark grinned at him and then sidled out the back door with a glance over his shoulder.

He didn't see Kian all that weekend. On Monday Kian wasn't in school and Mark was a little worried, hoped it wasn't because of the kiss. He found himself in the same bathroom between classes, when he ducked in to use the facilities, and stood there for a long moment near the sinks, still able to taste breath on his mouth, feel fingers curling around the back of his neck.

Kian didn't show up on Tuesday either. After school Mark headed for his street. He didn't know which house was Kian's, but figured he could walk around and try to spot him, maybe knock on some doors.

It wasn't a long street, ten or fifteen houses ending in a cul de sac, in an okay part of town. He walked up and down for twenty minutes, looking for a clue, a twitch of a curtain or maybe a bike in the yard that might belong to an eleven year old girl.

He knocked on the first door, got a harried woman that asked if he was selling something while two toddlers clung to her legs. She said she didn't know a Kian. The man at the second house didn't either. At the third one a stooped old lady told him that the Egan boy lived across the street, and a right troublemaker he was too, that she hoped Mark was there to arrest him or something. He said he wasn't, no, but thanked her for the help while she peered up at him through glasses so thick they could have started a grassfire.

The house was blue, paint a little peeling but in okay repair. The door was white behind a ratty screen door that clattered when he knocked. A little girl answered it.

She made sure the screen was locked as soon as she opened it, was the first thing he noticed. Marielle. Dark hair and big eyes, looking at him with a suspicious tilt to her head. Her nose was red and she was clutching a handful of tissues, dressed in pyjamas. He asked if Kian was in.

“Kian!” She shouted it down the hall, croaky voice echoing through the house. “Man's here to see you!”

“Who is it?” There was more movement inside. Kian appeared at the end of the hall. They stared at each other, Kian licking his lips slightly as he appraised Mark through the screen. “Go inside, Ellie,” he said. Mark shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say.

“But...”

“Go inside, baby. Watch TV, okay?” He stepped closer, touched her carefully on the back of the head and ushered her on. She went. Kian looked at him, chewing his lip.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Kian snorted. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn't come to school. I thought I'd check...”

“Yeah, Marielle's been sick. Probably could have gone back today, but I figured I'd give her an extra day, just to make sure. She's still all snotty.” He sighed. “Look, if it's about the other night...”

“It's... not. I mean, I won't say I wasn't surprised, but.” He glanced over Kian's shoulder. Marielle was peering around the end of the hall, watching them. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, mostly. About everything. I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought... I knew you liked that song. I wanted to sing it for you.”

“For me,” Kian muttered. His eyes were flat, guarded. “Why?”

“Because...” He didn't know how to answer that. Not without sounding like he was completely weird, about how the song had become Kian to him, somehow, the way he felt about the other boy, about how he hadn't known how to say it otherwise, just knew that Kian's smiles broke his heart a little bit, but made it feel more whole than it ever had.

“Because?”

“Just... because.” He wanted to take Kian's hand, but the screen was still between them. “You're my best friend. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“You're mine,” Kian said quietly. He hesitated for a long moment, then sighed, reaching out to unlock the door. “Come in, if you want. If you get Marielle's cold it's not my fault, though.”

“That's fine.” She was still peering around at them, though she ducked away when Mark stepped in. The screen closed behind him, then the door as well, blocking out the sunlight. Mark took Kian's hand, which stiffened in surprise for a moment before relaxing, curling into his.

 

*

 

Kian's house was nice enough, reasonably neat, if a little sparse. The living room was just a sofa, a rug and a TV, a couple of bookshelves against the wall. Marielle was sitting on the sofa watching TV when they went in, like she'd been there all along and not eavesdropping. She looked up and smiled when Kian introduced them, then went back to staring at the television, which was playing afternoon cartoons.

“Can I have cereal?”

“Dinner's in two hours,” Kian said, ruffling her hair. “You won't be hungry.”

“I'm hungry now. Can I have cereal for dinner?”

“No,” Kian chuckled. She pouted. “Small bowl,” he sighed. She cheered and ran for the kitchen. They both laughed, watching after her. When he turned back, Kian was smiling fondly, though it melted away while they stood there, watching each other.

They sat. When she came back in, a bowl of cereal in one hand, she plonked down between them, settling in to watch cartoons. It was kind of nice, a little domestic, neither of them really talking to each other, just watching TV and her babbling along, pausing every now and then to sneeze before picking up right where she'd left off, Mark giggling with her and Kian laughing fondly.

Two hours later she was asleep between them, head tipped back against the sofa, a wad of crumpled tissues clutched in one hand.

“Knew she'd wear herself out,” Kian snorted. He bent to scoop her up, her sleepy grumble the only response, and hefted her against his chest. They were halfway down the hall when he heard her speak.

“Not tired,” she mumbled.

“I know,” he replied. Mark found himself smiling. “Just lay down for five minutes, okay? Then you can come out and I'll make you dinner.”

“'kay.” They disappeared through a doorway. Her bedroom, Mark assumed. When Kian came back out, treading quietly, he closed the door behind him.

“Asleep?”

“Conked out,” Kian laughed. “She'll sleep for a bit, wake up, want to eat, and then pass out again. That cold's been kicking her arse.” He sat down. “So.”

“So.” The sofa springs squeaked when Mark turned to face him, legs hooking up onto the seat. Kian mirrored the pose. “What's... this, then?” He gestured between the two of them. “Because I thought we were just friends, and...”

“We are. We're...” Kian shook his head.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Why did you?” Kian raised an eyebrow. “I don't want to have this conversation, okay? I don't. Things were fine, and we were friends, and I did a stupid thing. If we can't forget about it, you don't have to talk to me any more. I get it.”

“You want to forget about it?”

“I want you to forget about it,” Kian countered. “Everybody thinks I'm weird. I don't need it from you too.”

“I don't think you're weird.” Mark reached out, caught his wrist. “Kian, if you're gay, then...”

“What does it matter if I am?” Kian's hand pulled away as both arms crossed over his chest. “Even if I wasn't, people would still call me queer, so what's the difference? I don't give a shit what they think. I don't want them to think at all. I just want to get through school, and take care of my sister, and not have to...” His voice broke, and he stopped to swallow, lips thin in a pink face. “I didn't ask to have friends. Especially not one who won't stop asking me stupid questions I don't feel like answering.”

“Do you want me to leave, then?”

“I didn't ask you to come here in the first place.”

“Do you want me to leave, though?” Kian turned away to stare at the TV. “You can talk to me.”

“I don't _want_ to talk to you.”

“What do you want to do, then?” Kian didn't reply. “Maybe I don't know what's going on, or how I feel about... about what happened, but I know that lunch is my favourite bit of the day, because I get to see you. Because you make me feel okay, and I think I make you feel okay some of the time too.” Kian rolled his eyes. “Kian.” He was still looking away, lips pressing together. Mark put a hand on his shoulder. “Kian.”

“What?”

“Would you say _something?_ Please?”

“What do you fucking _want_ me to say?” Kian exclaimed, shoving him away. “What? Do you want to hear that I'm fucking in love with you or something, like some sad fucking girl? I can't say that. I can't fucking tell you that I know what's going on, or that I'm not trying my best here, and that I just want...” He glanced towards Marielle's bedroom door. “I do everything for her, okay? Everything. I don't give a shit what people say about me, because as long as she's okay I'll burn the fucking world to the ground and piss on the ashes. I can't fucking tell you that I look forward to seeing you, because I don't have _time_ to feel that way. I don't have time for any of it. So I need you to forget about it, because even if you did feel the same way I can't...” He looked away, tears in his eyes.

“It was my mam's song, okay? Hers and mine. You don't get to just walk in and take it, like it means something to you. I lost _everything_ , and you can't give it back, and now I can't hear it without thinking of you too, and that's not _fair_.” He covered his face, though a harsh sob made it out of the shield of his fingers. “It's not,” he gulped.

“It does. Mean something to me.” Mark touched his shoulder again, moved closer when Kian flinched away. “It makes me think of you. I... I think about you all the time. And I miss you when you're not there. When you kissed me, I...” He felt a lump fill his own throat. “I don't know how I feel, I just know that I...” he hesitated, reached up to peel Kian's fingers away from his face, tears slick under his touch.

He felt breath on his mouth, tasted salt before he closed the distance. Kian's mouth was soft, yielding against his. They parted, trembling, and when Mark pressed closer fingers curled around the back of his neck again, blunt nails scraping slightly.

“I want this,” Mark croaked. Kian swallowed, their foreheads leaned together, both of them flushed and staring. “I want it. I didn't mean to want it.”

“Me either,” Kian whispered. He closed his eyes. When they opened again there were fresh tears spilling from them.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know.” They were kissing again. Mark didn't know how that had happened. He kept trying to speak, but every time he'd cut himself off, or Kian would. Soft, sucking things, drawn in like a magnet to Kian's every breath. “I know,” Kian whispered again. “I...” He caught Mark's mouth again. A tongue curled at his, tasting, and that was soft. Hot, trickling in Mark's stomach like cocoa.

He whimpered when he pulled away, heard Kian laugh brokenly.

“Kian?” They looked up. Marielle was standing in the bedroom door, rubbing her eyes. “Can't sleep. Don't feel well.”

“Come here, baby.” Kian reached out. Marielle sulked over to the sofa, the duvet from her bed wrapped around her. “You want some hot lemon?”

“Yes please.” She sank down, curled up into Kian's chest. Kian stroked her hair. “Don't want to go to school tomorrow.”

“You don't have to,” Kian promised. “I'll stay home with you, alright?”

Mark was about to ask why he had to, why their uncle couldn't stay with her or something, but Kian had probably had enough of questions. Instead he just reached over to touch his friend's hair gently, saw a careful smile as Kian kissed her forehead.

“I'll go make it,” Mark offered. Kian nodded, wriggling a hand free to catch Mark's. Mark squeezed it.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Mark nodded, and went to investigate the kitchen.

 


	7. Chapter 7

He left after he sorted out some tea. Kian had stopped crying, was sitting with Marielle snuggled to his chest and asleep, wrapped in her duvet. Mark kissed him quickly before he went, ducking in over the little girl's head and feeling a smile press to his mouth, trembling and confused. He felt about the same.

His parents asked where he had been. He said in the library. He had a test the next day, after all, had barely studied for it. The term was almost over. One more week and there was a week off, then full speed straight into Christmas. He couldn't believe he'd been at the school almost three months. Couldn't believe so much had happened in that time.

Kian came back to school on Thursday. If there was any trouble about him being absent, Mark didn't hear about it, though he did ask if Marielle was feeling better. Kian said she was. They ate lunch together, and it was like normal. Chatting and eating Mark's leftovers, laughing at stupid things. When they had about ten minutes left Mark guarded the ladder so Kian could nip up and check on his birds, and when he came down there were a couple of feathers on his sleeve and a grin on his face.

He only did okay on the test. His parents weren't impressed, and they had a long talk about priorities. Mark nodded through it, feeling his heart sink when they said he was spending too much time running around with his friends and not enough time studying. He nodded and agreed, because there wasn't much else to do and anything else would just start an argument. He didn't need one, didn't need them saying he couldn't see Kian at all.

Kian met him outside the Hawks Well on the next Wednesday evening after rehearsals. Shane laughed in surprise and gave him a quick hug, which Kian returned stiffly, blushing. When Shane was gone Kian walked him the rest of the way home, winding along the dark streets, their hands falling together when no-one could see.

“I'll see you tomorrow?”

Mark agreed that he would, and leaned in to kiss him. He meant to go inside but ten minutes later they were still stood there, shielded in the shadows of a large tree at the end of Mark's street, out of sight of the road. Kian's mouth was hot and wet, coaxing against his. When it broke Mark was out of breath.

“I...” Kian croaked, nuzzling into his cheek. “I'm...”

“Yeah,” Mark breathed. He felt Kian shiver against him. “Have to go.”

“Go,” Kian said, but he tugged Mark into another kiss anyway. Mark moaned, felt Kian gasp back. Felt a tongue curl against his, shy. “Go,” Kian said again. The hand on the back of Mark's neck said something else.

“Bye,” Mark whispered, blushing. They parted reluctantly, Mark waiting until Kian had disappeared into the darkness before heading home himself.

When he got in his parents asked how rehearsals had gone. He went upstairs to study without being told to, the taste of Kian's kisses still hot on his mouth.

 

*

 

“This is Scotland, huh?” Mark stretched. It was sunnier here than it had been at home. The ferry ride had been smooth, and they'd gotten off quickly while cars had backed up on the ramp, waiting for a turn. Within half an hour they were wandering through Cairnryan, the tiny village near the port, trying to figure out what to do next. Kian suggested hitching. Mark said it was probably safer to see if there was a bus, instead.

Kian bought their tickets. They were almost out of money, though he figured they wouldn't need much more, if all things went well. The alternative was too complicated to consider, so instead he sat down beside Mark to wait for the bus. It wasn't due for another hour, so he closed his eyes and settled into Mark's side, smiling when a kiss touched his hair.

Mark poked his arm, suddenly. He grumbled, turning into his boyfriend's shoulder. There was a poke again. He opened his eyes.

“What?”

Mark gestured. Two police officers near the door, working their way through the bus station. They hadn't seen them yet, but they were holding a couple of photographs, showing them to people, who were shaking their heads.

“Maybe it's not us,” Kian whispered. Mark pulled his cap down lower over his face, slumping in his seat. The officers were getting closer.

“Have you seen these boys?” The lady peered at it, hesitated, then shook her head. Mark grabbed Kian's hand, pulled, and they were up and headed towards the front door, trying to move as casually as possible. When they peeked back through the window they were asking another woman, the one who had looked shocked on the ferry when they'd kissed. She nodded, gestured back at the port. Mark let out a soft, nervous moan.

“It's okay.” They ducked away from the window just as the officers began to turn around. “Fuck.” Kian ran both hands through his hair, trying to think. “Shit.”

“How did they know?”

“Don't know. They found the car, maybe. I don't...” He looked around, trying to figure out their next move. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don't know,” Kian admitted. “But we need to leave.”

 

*

 

Kian's bedroom was about what Mark had expected. A smallish room at the back of the house, furnished with a bed and a chest overflowing with clothes stuffed messily into the drawers, like they'd previously been on the floor and had been tidied away hurriedly. Mark sat down on the bed once Kian had shoved a pile of dirty laundry onto the floor.

“Tidy up often?”

“I wasn't expecting to have guests, was I?” Kian shot back. Mark laughed. He'd walked Kian most of the way home, like he usually did, then somehow found himself on the front doorstep. Kian had shyly asked him in.

“Where's Marielle?”

“Friend's place. She goes there after school sometimes.”

“Oh.” Mark shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware that they were alone. In Kian's house. On Kian's bed. “So.”

“So.” Kian looked around. “I can put on music. You like music.”

“If you want.” Kian dropped to his knees and began to shuffle through a CD rack next to the beaten-up stereo in the corner. Mark took the opportunity to look at him. At a strong back moving under a baggy jumper. He was beautiful. Mark didn't know if that meant he was gay or not, if this counted as having those feelings, but Kian was beautiful.

“How'd you go on your Geography quiz?”

“Not bad.” Mark leaned back on the bed, looking around at the room. There were a couple of ragged band posters, mostly of the pentagram and skull variety. “You?”

“Okay, I think. Thanks for like... helping me.” Kian glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you like Fleshcrawl?”

“Er... maybe no music,” Mark suggested. Kian shrugged and stood back up. He'd been doing much better in school the last few weeks. Mark had snuck a glance at his French quiz a couple of weeks before and seen a B minus that Kian had tried to hide, though he'd looked a little flushed with self-conscious pride. “Do you want to study?”

“Sure. Yeah. If you want.” Kian sat down beside him again. He looked almost jittery. Mark knew how that felt. “So.”

“So.”

Mark didn't know what to say. It was ridiculous. Kian bit his lip, smiling awkwardly, then without warning began to laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing, just...” Kian put a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. Another nervous giggle spilled into the air between them. Mark smirked, not sure what was going on. “I literally have no idea what I'm doing.”

“Oh, thank god, me either.” Mark felt himself sag. Kian was still laughing. “Like, I've never even kissed anyone. Are we a... couple, or boyfriends or is this...” He gestured. “Do we date now? Is that what...”

“Not a clue. I was hoping you knew.” Kian hiccuped to a stop, though his eyes were still dancing.

“You're my best friend.”

“Yeah.” Kian sighed. Their fingers threaded together. “I like kissing you.”

“Ditto. It's...” Mark leaned in shyly, letting their shoulders press together. Kian was warm, and smelled strong and masculine, with a hint of motor oil. He touched his lips to a smooth cheek, felt his own go red when Kian leaned into it.

“Sometimes I think about... other stuff,” Kian admitted. “Not like... I mean, I don't think I want to do that yet, but I think about...” He breathed out slowly. “You're beautiful,” he mumbled.

“You are.” Mark felt a hot little thrill. He didn't think he was ready for that either. This was mad, and completely outside of what he'd expected to be doing, but Kian's touch felt right. Kian felt right. “We don't have to do that yet. We can just like... kiss.”

“I'd like that.” Kian turned, looking carefully up at him. Mark leaned in.

It was soft. Kian was soft.

He let himself fall into it, everything else forgotten.

 

*

 

“Where have you been?”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Mark stopped in the living room doorway, distracted from rushing back into the house. He really hoped he didn't look as rumpled as he suspected he did, though it was hard to tell. His mouth felt beyond swollen, and his hair was probably all over the place. Maybe he could blame it on the wind. “Erm... lost track of time?”

“You were supposed to be home half an hour ago.” His mother stood, folding her arms. “You know you're supposed to call. We gave you phone money.”

“I know.” Mark hesitated. She was studying him. “Sorry. I was hanging out with some friends and I didn't realise...” Shit, he was blushing.

“Mark...” She sighed. “Okay. Go up to your room. We'll talk about it after you do your homework.” He began to slink towards the stairs. “Dinner's in an hour.”

“Okay. Yes. Sorry. Thanks.” He tried to look nonchalant, but it was difficult when she was giving him that look, the one that kept drifting to his red lips.

His dad came home half an hour later. There was a soft knock on his bedroom door.

“Your mother told me you were late.”

Mark looked up from his desk. He'd managed to tidy himself up, mostly, though he'd definitely looked a mess. His lips still felt tingly, though it was a nice tingle, like Kian was still kissing him. He tried not to blush at the thought.

“I'm sorry. I really did lose track of time.”

“Oh. Well...” His dad sat down on the bed. “Look, we all make mistakes. You just need to be a little more responsible, alright?” Mark nodded. “I know you're out of the house more, and there are different rules at school, and we just want to make sure we're all still on the same page.”

“I really didn't mean to.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Everything okay at school? You having any trouble?”

“No. I mean... it was a bit of an adjustment, but I like it.”

“You still helping your friend study?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “It's not interfering with my schoolwork, honestly.”

“I guess we'll find out next week when you get your report card.” His dad smiled thinly. “Your mother thinks you're seeing a girl.”

Mark almost laughed out loud. “Sorry?”

“This afternoon? She said you looked like you'd been...” His dad coughed, looking away. “Look, I know you're at that age, and you're going to be going out with girls, but I guess all we ask is that you're honest with us.” Mark could feel himself going bright red. “There's time for those sorts of things later, and if you're sneaking off to see a... a girlfriend, then we'd rather know where you are.”

“I don't have a girlfriend.”

“Oh. Right.” His dad nodded. “Well... okay. If you are, though, just remember to be respectful. I know it's all confusing and...”

“I really don't have a girlfriend,” Mark interrupted, trying not to laugh. “Really. I don't know what mam thought, but...”

“Okay. Well.” His dad stood up. “Probably for the best, then. You don't want to get distracted, not this close to finishing school.” Mark nodded. He'd expected as much. “Your mam says dinner's on in ten minutes.”

Mark looked back at his book to hide his burning cheeks as the door closed.

 

*

 

They ended up hitching. Kian had hitched before, really didn't mind it as long as you were at least a bit wary about who you climbed in with, but Mark looked thoroughly nervous through the whole thing, fidgeting and peering over the back seat at the middle-aged couple in front, as though he thought one of them was going to suddenly turn around with a knife.

“What are you lads doing hitching, then?” The woman did most of the talking. The man seemed nice enough, but more inclined to watch the road, bit of a gruff, country type.

“Oh, er...” Kian glanced at Mark. “We were supposed to be meeting friends, but we were late and the bus had already gone.” Mark stayed blessedly silent. Kian loved him, but he did tend to ramble, was terrible at keeping a secret. “Hoping to get them at the next stop.”

“Where you headed?”

“Sheffield, eventually. Our brother's getting married to a Sheffield lass, so everyone's getting together. All the lads.”

“You're brothers?” Kian nodded. “Wouldna picked it.”

“Yeah, people always say that. Our dad always said that Michael here looked more like the milkman. Mam swore it was the postman, though.” That got a laugh. Mark was shaking his head.

“Well, we can take you as far as Dumfries. Get you part of the way.”

“That'd be grand. Don't mean to put you out.”

“Not at all. Wouldn't want you on the road getting into the evening anyway.” She peered out. “If you're hungry there's a packet of tea cakes back there somewhere. Help yourselves.”

“Oh, we couldn't.”

They definitely could, though. Mark nibbled his carefully, like he was trying to make it last, and Kian did the same, trying not to spill crumbs in the back seat. When it was done he watched out the window, making idle conversation as the road blurred past. He hoped they were far enough away.

“Looks like your brother's all tuckered out.”

Kian glanced over his shoulder. Mark was asleep, curled up against the window, eyes closed. Gorgeous and vulnerable, the waning sunlight blinking across his face.

“Yeah. He's had a big day.” He touched Mark's arm gently, trying not to look too familiar, though he wanted to gather him up. Kiss his hair and rock him back to sleep. “I'll let him get a kip in.” The man turned the radio down a little. Kian nodded gratefully.

“Not a bad idea,” she agreed. “Wake me when we get somewhere, Gerry?”

He agreed that he would. Kian went back to the window, just able to see Mark's reflection in the darkening sky.

 


	8. Chapter 8

They got a little bolder over the next few weeks. Mark did, anyway. He'd go over to Kian's most afternoons when Kian wasn't working. Marielle was usually there, and he and Kian would sit and help her with her homework. Kian wasn't the most academic of people, but he doted on her, would sit and patiently try to at least get her part of the way there, though she was bright and often didn't need it much. Mark would do his own, helping Kian along the way, and when they were done they'd leave her in front of the television with a bowl of cereal and go to Kian's room.

Kissing was nice. Very nice, in fact. But soon, Mark found that it didn't feel like enough. Not nearly enough, when there was always more to touch, more to feel, when the heat flooding through him felt like it was beginning to burn, and the only way to make it better was to get more.

He moaned softly as fingers skated the edge of his shirt, brushing gently over his skin. He could feel his muscles jumping, startled and wanting all at once, and when Kian tilted, nuzzled into him, their breaths coming hard and fast between them, he needed.

“Mm...” Kian muttered, tilting into him again. “Mark...”

“Kian.” His name even tasted good. There was a soft groan as they parted again, Kian's fingers still trailing the bottom of his shirt. “I...”

“We should stop.”

“Yes.” He didn't want to. Kian didn't appear to want to either, because he closed the distance again. Mark ran fingers through his hair, and when they separated again he couldn't help but kiss up Kian's jaw, feeling the thrill of more. There was a soft gasp of surprise.

“Mark...” Kian breathed. “Oh.”

“You're so...” Mark mumbled. There was a soft whine in response. He had no idea what he was doing, but the curve of Kian's jaw felt right against his lips, the brush of hair as he pressed kisses up to a perfect ear. Kian was shivering, arms locked around his shoulders. Mark knew how he felt. “Stop?”

“No.” Kian lifted his chin, giving Mark more room. “Don't.” Mark slid his tongue out experimentally, heard a soft hum of pleasure when he flicked it against Kian's earlobe. He was arching in, now, like he was trying to press everything into Mark's mouth. It was intoxicating.

“Kian!”

They both froze. Kian swore gently, then stood, and Mark didn't miss the stiff bulge in his school trousers. He felt his mouth fill with wet, his chest with panic. He swallowed both down, looking away.

“What is it?”

“Man's here!”

“Coming!” Kian was trying to tidy himself up. It wasn't really working. He untucked his shirt to cover the bulge, giving Mark a guilty smile. Mark laughed. “Sorry. Just...” He left the room, and Mark head footsteps turn the corner. Kian's bedroom was down a short hallway that doubled back slightly, and so his window was quite near the front door. They probably would have heard the knock, had they been paying any attention at all.

“Hello?” he heard Kian say. Mark lay back on the bed, trying to get himself under control.

“Hello, lad. Is Edward Walsh in?”

“Who's asking?”

“We're from Swan Real Estate? There's been a letter sent about unpaid rent.”

“Oh...” Kian paused. “I'm sorry. He's not in. Can I get him to call you back, maybe?”

“He has our number. Here's our card, anyway, if...”

“Just... slide it under the door.” Kian sounded tense. “I'm sorry. He handles all that stuff. I'm just his nephew. I don't...” He paused again. “Marielle, go watch your cartoons, babe. I'm talking to the nice people.” Mark heard light footsteps scurry down the hall. “Sorry. He's been away this week with work. Maybe he just forgot?”

“This isn't the first time...”

“Really?” Kian didn't actually sound surprised. “Tell you what, I'll give him a call, let him know to get in touch. It's probably a misunderstanding.” There was a long moment's silence. “Anything else I can do for you?” They said there wasn't. The door shut.

Kian didn't come back in straight away. Mark heard the door down the hall open, then close. When he came out Marielle was sat on the sofa still, watching TV.

“Who was that?”

“Dunno. People in suits.” She didn't look up from the TV.

“Do they come round often?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does...” He hesitated. “Your uncle. When was he last...”

“It's getting late,” Kian interrupted. He was stood in the doorway, looking out, though Mark could swear there were tears drying on his cheeks. He didn't know what to say. “You'd better head off. Won't your parents worry?” Mark glanced at his watch. Kian was probably right, and he didn't need to get in trouble again. “Thanks for helping me study.”

“That's okay.” Mark looked down at Marielle again, at dark hair pulled into messy pigtails. Kian's work, probably. “Bye, Marielle.”

“Bye,” she said absently. “Kian? Can I have cereal for dinner?”

“No.” Kian was still looking at Mark. “Come on,” he said. “I'll walk you out.”

 

*

 

Mark suspected that this was what being in love felt like.

He couldn't say for certain, not having had much experience in it, but in some fundamental way he thought that maybe the movies had it wrong. It was always rising strings, and running through the rain and all that sort of thing, little moments of big romance.

He and Kian didn't feel like that. It felt easy, safe. Slow and comfortable and like grand gestures were completely unnecessary, because when Kian looked up at him from the next desk and gave him a small smile, that was enough. He felt like he could look at Kian forever, and sod all the extra crap. He didn't want rainbows and fireworks. He just wanted Kian to hold his hand.

That was probably not a thought to be had while he was sat at a parent-teacher night, waiting for his English teacher to call them in.

His report card had been perfectly satisfactory, thank god. His History had been a little behind, but his parents had been willing to accept it as just getting used to school, a kink that should be ironed out by the time exams came around again. He couldn't believe he'd already been here six months. It felt like a lifetime.

Mrs Andrews was a nice enough teacher. Pretty, with glasses and long dark hair she wore back in a French braid. Young. Some of the kids would muck around in her class, knowing she got a bit flustered if she was put on the spot, and that discipline wasn't her strong suit. She knew a lot about classical literature, though, and Mark enjoyed listening to her, even if she did tend to waffle a bit.

She had very nice things to say. Most of his teachers had. That he worked hard, that he was a joy to have in class. He didn't know how to take those compliments, really, just knew that anything less would get him in trouble at home. He liked to learn, he supposed.

“He's helping one of the other boys,” his mother commented. “After school, sometimes. It's not interfering with his work, is it?”

“No. Definitely not.” She hesitated. “Which boy?”

“That Kian lad. What's his last name?” Mark mumbled that it was 'Egan'. Mrs Andrews looked surprised.

“I know Kian. He's in my other class.” She looked at Mark. “You've been helping him?”

“Yeah. I mean, he said he was having trouble in French, basically, so I helped him with that, and then we worked on some other stuff too. Maths and English and that.” He glanced at his parents. “That's alright, isn't it?”

“Yes. Of course it is.” She shuffled through her notes. “I've seen a real improvement in his work lately. A couple of the faculty have. You sure you haven't been doing his assignments for him?” It was a joke, but Mark could see curiosity there. Because how could Kian do well if someone wasn't doing it for him?

“I just... no. We just worked on it together.” Mark could feel himself going red. “I think he gets frustrated if he doesn't get it straight away, so he kind of gives up. So we just do another subject for a while then go back to it.” He felt ridiculous, talking about Kian like this. “He tries.”

“I've noticed that myself.” She smiled warmly at him. “I've tried to speak to his guardian about it a few times, but I don't think he's getting much help at home. I'm impressed.” Mark could feel his mother swelling with pride next to him, and blushed harder. “You ever think about becoming a teacher?”

“He's going to do law,” his mother interrupted, before he had a chance to say that yeah, he'd thought about it, actually. “He's got the marks for it.” Mark nodded. He thought he'd mentioned once that he wanted to be a lawyer, when he was little and watching some TV show, and his mother had looked so made-up he'd never bothered to tell her he didn't have any interest in it at all. He was dreadful in front of an audience unless he was singing, and while he didn't mind absorbing facts the whole thing felt dry and boring. He just thanked god he'd never said he wanted to be a doctor. The sight of blood made him sick.

The meeting finished up quickly. It was their last one, so they started heading back to the car across the parking lot. On the way one of the girls from the show waved at him. He waved back, smiling.

“Who's that, then?” his mother said, the moment she was out of earshot.

Mark said it was nobody and climbed into the car.

 

*

 

Things moved along quickly. Before Mark knew it Grease was almost upon them. He didn't get to see Kian much the weeks before, was busy all hours at rehearsals, then dress-rehearsals, which were extremely sobering and just made the whole thing seem more real. He knew he only had one song, but he'd been practicing like crazy, wanting to have it absolutely perfect on the night. They were doing six nights over two weeks, and Shane was buzzing as well.

He spent more time with Shane. Sometimes Kian would come too, but often he wouldn't. Mark understood. He was busy, with work and Marielle. Mark wanted to ask questions, wanted to badly, but he knew Kian wouldn't give him real answers if he did. He supposed it wasn't his business, but they were getting closer, the kisses becoming hotter and harder, fingers edging carefully under clothes, and Mark didn't know if that was all they were, if Kian wouldn't let him in.

“I'm going to be sick of that song by opening night, if you don't stop,” Kian teased. Mark laughed, shoving him. They were sat by the lake, hidden back in the trees. It was a nice spot, secluded, but with enough room to stretch out. They came here often on sunny days, when Kian's living room was getting too stifling and Marielle was at a friend's place.

“I'm sick of it already.” He lay down. Kian lay beside him, taking his hand. Mark squeezed it. “You'll come opening night?”

“Course I will.” Kian looked over. “As if I'd miss it.”

“Thanks.” He let out a slow breath. “Really nervous.”

“Why?”

“What if I screw it up?”

“Then you screw it up.” Kian shrugged. “No point worrying until it happens.”

“I guess.” He rolled onto his side, looking at blue eyes that were almost clear in the cold sunlight. “What do you worry about?”

“I don't.” Kian was lying. “It doesn't fix anything. You figure out what you need to do, and then you do it.”

“What if there's nothing you can do?”

“What are you on about?” Kian was looking a little defensive now. Mark fell silent, taking his hand again. “I swear, sometimes you do bog on about absolute shite.” His voice was gentle. Mark laughed, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You'll be fine. Course you will.” He kissed Mark's hair. Mark leant into it, unable to stop. Affectionate fingers drifted up his spine, then back down again, making him shiver.

“Kian?”

“Mm?” It rumbled against his forehead, making him wriggle in pleasure.

“Are you happy?”

“I don't know. Is anyone?” Kian kissed his forehead again. “Some things are shit. You're not.” His hand squeezed Mark's hip. “If everything else just went away, and I had this then... yeah. That's probably what happy is.” He looked down. Mark looked up, saw careful blue eyes watching him. “I...” He swallowed. “I'm going to say something really soppy and if you tell anyone I'll kick you in the bollocks.”

“Are you?” Mark chuckled. Kian raised an eyebrow. “I promise I won't tell anyone.”

“Cool.” Kian actually looked nervous. “I erm... I love you. I think.” He looked like he was holding his breath, a little bit. Mark felt his own puff out of him.

“I think I love you too.” Kian's face broke into a bashful grin. Mark beamed back. “If everything else went away and I had this, I'd be perfect.”

“Okay. Cool.” Kian bit his lip. “That's good, then.”

“It is.” Mark pressed their foreheads together, felt Kian stroke up his back again. “Kian?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” A kiss caught his upper lip. He shivered. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

 

*

 

They left the nice middle-aged couple at Dumfries, unfolded themselves stiffly out of the car. It was late. Kian hefted his bag over his shoulder, trying to figure out where to go next. South was a good start, and they walked until they found a train station. The ticket booth was closed, at this time of night, but there was a train to Carlisle in the morning, and it looked like they could see about getting to London from there. They couldn't afford the fare, but Kian figured they could take their chances, hope no guards came along to check tickets. Mark looked appalled by that idea. It was very cute.

They didn't sleep that night. They'd both napped here and there in the car, and it wasn't so bad. They found a bench to sit at overlooking a park, and Mark put an arm around his shoulder, the two of them watching the moon rise, the stars wheel above them.

“Do you think she's alright?” Kian whispered. Mark held him tighter.

“I'm sure she is.” Fingers threaded with his. “She's yours, after all.”

Kian folded in towards him, wishing he could find the energy to cry.

 

*

 

Opening night was amazing. Mark hid in the wings through most of it, watching the others. Shane was perfect, looked to be having the time of his life. He'd looked nervous too, but he was a performer, completely. Mark didn't know if he was the same, but it was too late to do anything about that now.

“Ready?” Shane whispered. The girl playing Frenchie was doing her little monologue, hanging out in the diner. The chorus were all in their outfits, fiddling with pink wigs and fixing each other's dresses.

“No,” Mark laughed. A hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Brilliant. Go for it.”

He took a deep breath, waited for his cue, and stepped out.

There were scattered claps, cheers, a couple of whistles. He tried not to laugh hysterically, tried not to look for Kian in the audience, though he knew he was out there somewhere. He'd promised he'd come straight from work.

It felt a blur.

The applause was enormous. He gulped, felt it rush at him like a wave, and then was off before it had even finished, Shane clapping him on the back while he tried to shrug on his jacket, getting ready for the scene at the drive-in.

He enjoyed the rest of the show after all the anticipation was over. By the time they all headed back to the stage for We Go Together he was sure he could do this five more times. Couldn't wait to do it again.

He took a bow. The lights were blinding, but he could see Kian's shape, the spotlights catching him sat in the third row. He was standing, clapping furiously, and Mark grinned back, sure there was no-one else in the room.

“You were amazing!” Kian met him outside, yanked him into a hug. Marielle was beside him, looking bored but pretty in a blue dress. Mark laughed, hugging him back.

“You weren't sick of the song, then?”

“The song was shite. You were gorgeous.” He was hugged again. “Loved the white suit. Bit sexy.”

“Yeah?” Mark felt a thrill, then realised his parents were walking over with his brothers. He pulled away, trying to seem nonchalant. His mam gave him a hug, then smiled at Kian.

“Didn't know you were here, Kian.”

“Yeah, Mark made me come.” Kian smirked. “It was okay, I guess. Give Marielle a bit of culture and all that.” He hugged her to his side, got an indignant squawk.

“We're going to get ice-cream.” His mother was looking at Kian. He'd scrubbed up quite well, had combed his hair and everything. “Would you like to come?”

“Can I stay at Kian's tonight?” Mark blurted. His mother gave him an odd look. Kian's was even more surprised. “Just... it's Friday and we were going to hang out tomorrow anyway.” He held his breath. Kian was staring at him.

“I don't see why not,” his dad said. “Ice-cream first?”

“Definitely.” Kian grinned. “Won't say no to ice-cream.” He looked like he wanted to take Mark's hand. Mark knew how that felt.

 

*

 

Mark's parents paid, said it was a celebration dinner and all that. Mark was glad. He didn't know if Kian could afford to buy ice-cream for both him and his sister, and didn't want the awkward moment. Marielle got a double scoop of chocolate, holding it triumphantly like she couldn't believe it was all for her, extra sprinkles and caramel fudge. She got on like mad with Barry, was babbling away at him while he looked cautiously pleased at the attention, though he was blushing by the end.

“Will your parents be home tonight, Kian?”

“My uncle's on a work trip for the weekend,” Kian said. Mark had gotten used to this line of reply, and still wasn't sure if it was a lie or not. His mother was looking curious. “I'm sitting for Marielle.”

“What does your uncle do?”

“He's a truck driver. Does a lot of long haul stuff, you know?”

“That must be tiring work.”

“It's fine. We kind of take care of ourselves.” He glanced at Marielle. “I just make sure she gets to school and everything, and he's home two or three days a week.” That was definitely a lie. “I work at the garage, try to help out.”

“You've got a lot on your plate.”

“Maybe.” He looked down at his ice-cream, like he wasn't sure what to say next. “Thanks for this, by the way. You sure you don't want me to chip in?”

She said not to worry, and within a few minutes Mark had managed to turn the conversation onto safer topics. By the time they left Mark was pleasantly full of sugar and Barry looked disappointed that Marielle was leaving. She looked a bit put out that he wasn't at school so they could hang out. Kian kept giving her knowing looks, smirking, then looking away.

Mark was just trying not to hold his hand.

 


	9. Chapter 9

They got Marielle to bed by eleven. She was buzzing on sugar when they got home, talking about the show and asking a thousand questions, but within an hour she was starting to flag. Kian sent her to her room to get into her pyjamas, and five minutes later when he went to check on her she was already asleep, sprawled out on top of the covers.

Kian got her tucked in, then came out to sit on the sofa, taking Mark's hand.

“Staying the night, huh?”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Mark laughed. Kian raised an eyebrow. “I haven't seen you in a couple of days. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Kian sidled a little closer. Mark put an arm around him, was surprised when Kian's legs landed over his lap, snuggling them together. He put his hand on a long thigh, felt it shift under his grip, and when he looked up Kian was watching him with dark eyes, bottom lip impossibly pink where he was chewing on it slowly. Mark stared back, not sure what to make of the thoughtful, hungry gaze being levelled at him.

“Are you tired?”

“No.” The thigh under his hand flexed again, and Mark's fingers dug a little harder into it, wanting to feel strength and heat. Kian shifted closer. “Are you?”

“No,” Mark breathed. Kian swallowed. “I want you.”

“What do you want?”

“I don't know.” He felt horribly inexperienced. Kian looked just as nervous. “I want you all the time. You make me...” He slid his hand a little higher without meaning too, saw Kian shiver and bite his lip. “You make me feel...”

The distance closed. There was no build up, no tenderness, it was just a hot, open mouth on his, tongue curling forward while Mark let out an embarrassing moan and met it, hand bunching in Kian's hair, the other sliding up and around, palming over his hip, wanting to go further, to cup to that firm arse he'd noticed stretching Kian's school pants when he bent over.

“Touch me,” Kian whispered. Mark's hand moved and oh, round and perfect in his hand, tensing when he squeezed. Kian's groan vibrated through him, making his hips jerk up slightly, automatically, needing contact. Getting it, when fumbling fingers slid under his shirt, moved up, higher than they'd ever gone, a palm pressing to his belly and stroking up his side, fingers smoothing over his ribs and down again, digging into the back of his jeans.

“Are we gonna?” He had to ask. Kian laughed, cutting himself off with another kiss.

“No idea. Fuck, I want you.” A gulping moan puffed against his mouth. Mark realised he'd just slid his hand lower again, was kneading Kian's arse without knowing what else to do. “Arse man, aren't you?”

“Just yours.” Kisses were sliding up his jaw, down his neck. He shivered, bit his lip to keep himself quiet. “Kian...”

“Want you,” Kian said again. Then he was shifting, straddling Mark's lap. Mark looked up, saw nervous eyes watch him carefully. Then, hesitantly, Kian tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it into the corner. He looked back down at Mark, cheeks going a little pink. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Fuck, he really was beautiful. Mark felt suddenly, desperately inadequate. Found he was too turned on to care. His fingers found a smooth chest, stroking experimentally down a flat stomach and around his navel, mouth pressing to the bump of ribs.

“Mark...” Kian whispered.

“So perfect.” He found the bump of a spine, followed it up, then back down, cupping over Kian's arse, still in jeans. Fingers threaded through his hair.

“Mark. Oh.” Mark had just licked carefully at a nipple. Kian whimpered.

“That's nice?” He figured he'd better ask. He had no bloody idea what he was doing, except that he wanted to taste everything. Kian nodded, ducking down to kiss him. Fingers hooked at the bottom of his shirt, tugging.

It came off awkwardly, catching on one arm, then on his head. By the time it was off they were both laughing and blushing, Mark trying to get his hair back into place while Kian swore and threw the shirt to join his own in the corner. They stared at each other, flustered. Kian grinned.

“Looks easier in the movies.”

“Tell me about it.” He laughed. Then realised he was sitting there, in Kian's living room, with his shirt off. A thumb traced his collarbone, Kian's eyes softening. “Er... so yeah.” He wondered if he was really disappointing.

“Come on.” Kian climbed up, a hand taking his. “We'd better take this to my room in case Marielle wakes up.”

 

*

 

If Mark had been clueless before, he was completely lost now. Not that it was a bad thing. He wasn't sure at all what he was supposed to be doing, but what he wanted to do was kiss, to touch, and so he did, both of them laid together in Kian's bed, the covers over them. They started out side-by-side, but before long Kian was rolling on top, kissing him deeper, and Mark couldn't get enough of the feeling of bare skin pressed to his own, of the heat of Kian moving against him, consuming him with deep kisses.

They'd gotten out of their jeans at some point, and Mark didn't know when he'd ever felt this exposed, down to his cotton boxers, Kian in much the same. He could feel hardness when he moved, knew it wasn't all his own, and there was a stark thrill at that thought. Kian moaned softly, arching up when Mark rolled them over.

“You feel amazing,” Kian muttered. Mark kissed down his throat, not sure where he was headed but eager to find out. “You feel so good.”

“Ditto.” Kian shivered, hips snapping up. Mark bit down on his collarbone, more to distract himself than anything, and heard a gasping cry. He did it again, soothing it with his tongue once he was done, and trailed a little lower, pecking kisses over a peaked nipple. Kian's hips rose again, then again, setting a desperate rhythm against his stomach.

“Ah... Mark.” He gulped. “Gonna have to.”

“Jesus,” Mark breathed. He didn't know what to say. What to do. He was getting there himself, but he hadn't thought that far ahead. In some part of his mind, he'd expected to nip off to the bathroom and sort himself out, like he did at home. He didn't want to.

“Please.” Kian was panting, his face red. “Oh please.”

Mark made a decision. Cupped his hand over the bulge he'd been feeling pressed against him through cotton, been too unsure to focus on directly. Kian groaned and arched into his hand. He tightened the grip, felt his thumb catch on the ridge of the head. Kian's cock was a little like him, shorter but solid, by no means not enough. Mark looked up at a flushed face, at eyes that were watching him, dazed. Then they rolled shut, his head tipping back, lip bitten.

“Ah...” He bit his lip again. Mark remembered Marielle down the hall, and wished he hadn't. He felt Kian's legs shift, one thigh hitch up to trap him. “Ah... Mark I...” Teeth dug in, but they didn't stop the groan that spilled out as Mark felt him twitch and the fabric become suddenly wet and warm under his hand.

It was perfect. Despite trying to be quiet, Kian made beautiful noises, dazed and choked off, hips arching into Mark's grip, jerking twice, then again, feet scrabbling at the sheets. Mark kissed his stomach when he was done, resting his head on a flat belly while panting breaths eased against his cheek.

Fingers drifted through his hair when Kian was done. He looked up, saw a stunned smile, and grinned back when Kian laughed.

“Fuck.” Kian tugged playfully at his hair. “Sorry.”

“S'okay.” He crawled back up to catch another kiss. Kian tasted different, somehow. Sweeter and more pliant against his mouth. He nuzzled into a flushed neck, curling up against him while a gentle hand stroked his spine absently. “Was that okay?”

“No, I only come like that when it's completely shit,” Kian teased. Mark giggled. He felt lightheaded, was still pulsing earnestly against Kian's thigh. “Can I...?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Oh, believe me, I want to.” Fingers dug into his arse, making him squeak. A hand slid between them. Mark closed his eyes, biting his cries into Kian's shoulders as the grip began to move. When he opened his eyes Kian was watching him, looked almost caught. Mark kissed him, broke away when it became too much.

“Ki,” he gasped.

“I've got you,” Kian whispered. The grip tightened.

“Mn...”

“That's it.” Kian swallowed against his ear, voice rough with want. “Oh Jesus, yes.”

“Yes,” Mark echoed.

Then he was gone, his cries muffled in a broad shoulder while he fell apart in Kian's grip.

 

*

 

They barely slept that night. Mark didn't know how to. Kian produced a box of tissues and they cleaned themselves off, then climbed back into bed. Their boxers were both in a state, and when Mark self-consciously stripped them off he got a cheeky grin that made him blush.

“Did we have sex?” Kian asked quietly, when they were laid together under the covers. They were kissing occasionally, but more than anything Mark was just enjoying the touch of him, of hands exploring him, of the feel of Kian's body under his own hands.

“Don't know.” He tugged the blanket up higher. It was a little chilly in here, but then it was getting close to Christmas. “Isn't there supposed to be like... arse stuff?”

“I don't think I'm ready for that one yet.”

“Me either. Gross.” He pulled a face. Kian laughed.

“I like your arse.” A hand slapped it gently. “Does it count, though, if we don't do that? Shouldn't we have done like... blowjobs or something?”

“Don't know. That's just blowjobs, though, not sex either.” Mark pursed his lips. “I think it counts. I feel like we had sex. I mean... I don't feel like we didn't have sex.”

“We could do it more, just to be sure.”

“Good idea.” They grinned at each other. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Kian's hand cupped to his arse again, then slid up, beginning to make slow circles in the small of his back. Mark sighed happily and snuggled into his shoulder. “You are completely beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Mark said awkwardly. Kian chuckled. “What?”

“Nothing.” He was nudged up into a kiss. “Not a thing.”

Mark closed his eyes, drifting to the feeling of a soft touch on his skin.

 

*

 

The first train trip was easy enough. There were no guards checking tickets, so they just found a couple of free seats up the back and settled in for the ride. There was an hour's wait for the second train, but by the time they boarded Mark was looking much more confident. They waited until the last minute to get out, and crammed their bags in under the seats instead of the overhead compartment, just in case they had to make a quick exit. It was a bit cramped around their feet, but they managed well enough. Mark kissed his shoulder.

They had been on the train almost an hour when Kian needed the bathroom. He climbed over Mark and started to head up the aisle, hands on the backs of the seats to keep his balance on the swaying train.

He was on his way back when he saw his own face.

He blinked, paused. There was a man in the seat he was about to pass, newspaper open on his lap. Not too near the front, eight or nine pages in, but there he was in black and white at the bottom of the page, right next to a picture of Mark. Terrible school pictures, but them all the same.

He swallowed, put his head down, and headed back to their seats.

“Put your cap on,” he murmured. Mark looked confused, but did it anyway.

“What's going on?”

“Maybe nothing.” Kian pulled his own hat on, tucking his hair up underneath it so it would look like he had short hair. It was probably bulging a little oddly, but it would have to do. “Just in case.”

“Okay.” Mark studied him nervously. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Kian took his hand. “Not much further now.”

 

*

 

“Hold still,” Kian laughed. Mark's heart was pounding. He didn't know why he was doing this, wasn't sure at all, except Kian had said that it was okay.

He wasn't ready for this. Really wasn't.

“Okay.” Kian reached out. Mark flinched, trying to stop his hands from tightening out of fright. “There.” He let go, and Mark felt pinpricks dig into his finger. When he looked down there was a bird sat on his hand.

“Erm...” He looked at it helplessly. Kian was watching, eyes full of laughter. “What happens now?”

“Oh, this is the part where it jumps on your face and lays it's eggs down your throat, like in Alien.” Kian rolled his eyes. “It's a bird. It does bird things.” It was looking at Mark, was what it was doing, inspecting him sidelong with a large, beady eye. “That's the baby one.”

“No way.” It was full-grown now. Mark remembered a fluffy, gawky thing that could barely fly on stubby wings. “Will they be okay over Christmas?”

“They'll be okay.” It was cold, getting colder. Not the bad February snaps yet, but definitely harder to get out of bed in the dark mornings, when putting your feet out of bed was almost excruciating. “See how they've gotten all chubby? They've been eating loads.” He reached out, and the sparrow hopped away onto his hand. Mark let his own fall in relief. That hadn't been so bad, he supposed. “Haven't you Tom?”

“I thought you weren't going to name them?”

“I wasn't. Then there were so many I figured I'd better, or I'd get confused.” He made a soft, clumsy chirp, watching the sparrow hop between his fingers. “They're building, too.” he gestured at the birdhouse. There was straw and bits of leaves spilling out, and it looked like they'd been putting in quite the renovation, little nests in every eave and corner. “They know what they're doing.”

“Well, I'm glad someone does,” Mark joked. “What are the others?”

“I didn't name all of them.” Kian looked around. “Just the regulars, you know? That's Gavin.” He pointed at one that had just landed on top of the birdhouse. “Fenella's over there.” He gestured. “Then there's Vivienne. She's around here somewhere. Patricia's the mam, the one I found first.” His cheeks were going slightly red, and suddenly Mark understood.

“Which one's Marielle?” he asked quietly.

“None of them. She's at school.” Kian looked away. Mark reached out, and smiled nervously when Tom hopped carefully onto his hand. Kian looked at him in surprise.

“Hey, Tom,” he said. “Nice to meet you, then.” When he peeked up there were tears standing in Kian's eyes. Tom shat in his hand. Kian giggled when Mark pulled a face.

“Typical Tom.” The bird fluttered up to land on the vent above Mark's head. “Was always a bit of twat. Good quality, though.” He handed Mark a tissue, then they both jumped as the bell rang. “Shit, we'd better get back to class. Erm...” He leaned in, kissing Mark gently on the cheek. “Come on.”

 

*

 

Christmas came and went. They didn't spend Christmas together, though Mark badly wanted to. It would have looked odd, though, asking to spend the holiday with a friend instead of his family. They had a nice day, the whole family at his grandparents' house for dinner, crowded around the table, cousins and aunts and uncles and everyone, laughing and talking in a warm room that smelled of spices and pine.

The next day he went to Kian's with what presents he'd bought out of the little money he'd been able to scrape together, a few for Kian and some for Marielle. He was thinking of getting a job, maybe, was sick of having nothing but what allowance his parents gave him, but when he'd mentioned it it hadn't gone over well, his mother asking if he needed more money instead, that they could have a look at his allowance rather than him getting distracted with a job.

He really wasn't going to tell her about Kian, then. If there was a bigger distraction, Mark couldn't think of it.

Not that he minded, really.

Marielle answered the door, still in her pyjamas. There had been some attempt at decorating, Mark saw as he walked down the hall. Nothing ostentatious, but there was a bit of tinsel here and there, and a small plastic Christmas tree sat on a table in the corner. Mark wondered if there had been any presents to put under it.

“Merry Christmas.” He handed it over, saw Kian look surprised.

“You didn't have to...”

“Course I did.” He watched Kian rip the paper carefully off the corners, then pull it open.

“What's this?” He peered at the CD. Not something Kian would have picked for himself at all, especially considering there were no demons or blood on the front.

“Turn it over.” Kian did, looking at the tracklist, where Mark had circled the song with a heart in silver pen. “I bought it ages ago, when I was learning it for the talent show. Thought you might like it.”

“Oh... Mark.” Kian's eyes softened. Marielle was looking at them in confusion. “It's perfect. Thank you. Um...” He was still looking at it.

“What's that?”

“It's a song mam used to play.” He touched her hair. She peered at it curiously. “You want to hear it?” He led them into the bedroom and bent down to put it into the player. Then they sat down on the bed, Marielle snuggled up to Mark's side while Kian pressed play. He sat on her other side, kissing her hair.

It was still wonderful. Marielle sat listening, knees bunched up to her chest, eyes watching the stereo earnestly.

“It's sad,” she commented. Kian nodded.

“Yeah. It is.” He looked at Mark, who smiled back. When the song was over she wandered away, mentioning something about how Home Alone was going to be on TV in five minutes. Kian smirked and took the CD back out of the player.

“She's never heard it?”

“No.” He put it back in the case and slid it carefully into an empty slot at the top of the rack. “Mam's piano went up in the fire, and then we never had one here. I... almost didn't want her to hear it. She doesn't remember. Maybe it's better that way.” Mark nodded. Kian had never talked about this so directly, and he didn't want to interrupt. “If she doesn't remember, she doesn't have to miss them.”

“What were they like?”

“Mam was beautiful,” Kian murmured. “Like, I know everyone thinks their mam was perfect, but mine was. Even when she was shouting at us, you always knew she loved you.” He curled his knees to his chest, looking at the floor. “Tom used to take care of me. He was fifteen, and he was an idiot, but he'd knock the hell out of anyone who was messing with me. Nobody messed with my big brother. Gav was really cool too, we were close in age so we kind of grew up together. Viv and Fenella were mental. They were six years apart, but they were the worst together. You'd watch yourself if you heard them laughing, just in case they'd stuck something on your back or messed with your school-bag or something...” He trailed off. “I miss them like crazy,” he whispered.

“I know.” Mark put an arm around his shoulders. “I bet I would have liked them.”

“They would have liked you.” Kian gave him a trembling smile. “Me and Gav shared a room, but Gav had a cold so he was sleeping in with mam because he kept driving me mad snoring. If he'd been in with me...”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“I know.” A flash of anger tripped behind Kian's eyes. “Believe me, I know.” His hands tightened into fists, then he let out a slow breath and relaxed. He took Mark's hand. “I'll never let anything happen to her. I've never loved anyone like I love her.”

“I'll never love anyone like I love you,” Mark promised. Kian nuzzled into his shoulder. “I'll keep you safe, I promise. No matter what.”

“Maybe you can't.” Kian kissed his cheek. “But I love you for trying.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

January was freezing. For the first time Mark missed being home-schooled, getting to wake up to a hot breakfast and sit at the kitchen table in the warm, books open in front of him and getting to stop occasionally for a cocoa and a biscuit.

He struggled to school every day under layers of clothes, was sure he was frostbitten before he even made it off the bus, his breath puffing clouds of mist out over the top of his scarf and the air turning to ice as it touched his skin. They had to sit inside for lunch, gave up being outside, and they'd find a spot in the corner of the cafeteria, Mark missing the quiet and solitude when everyone else was banging and shouting, too many people crammed in too small a space.

“So, when you're graphing a linear function, you need to find the two points of intersection...” Mark picked up a pen, turning the textbook to face Kian.

“Why do I need to know this, exactly?”

“It's on the exam.”

“Yes, but apart from that.” Kian was looking frustrated, was already doodling in the margins of his notebook.

“It's about constant change. Like, if you have to find out how much of something correlates with time passed. So...” He tried to think. “Okay, so if I gave you five handjobs every two weeks...” He lowered his voice slightly, saw Kian's eyes twinkle. “You could figure out how many handjobs you'd be up to on week twenty, or week thirty-five, or week one hundred and thirty-five, using a linear function.” He grabbed a sheet of graphing paper and began to draw it up, winking when he scribbled HJ on the vertical axis. “See?”

“Now you're talking a language I understand,” Kian chuckled. “Only five every two weeks?”

“Well, that's for linear growth.” He grabbed another sheet. “Then you have exponential growth, right? Which is where things increase over time. So say we start with one minute of handjobs a week, but if then we increase that by two percent per week, you'll see a graph that starts to curve like this...” He sketched it in. “Because the percentages compound on top of each other. So you're adding two percent from each previous total to create the next one until...”

“You've got really bad chafing?”

“That, too. Then you find your limit. When the growth physically can't increase any further within the parameters. So, in this case, when my hand is literally on your cock at every minute of the day. There's nowhere else for it to go.”

“That sounds awful,” Kian teased. “No, that makes sense.” He took the sketches and put them carefully in the back of the book. “Do you reckon you could make my Geography homework about handjobs as well?”

“If you look at Sweden and Finland together, they look a bit like a dick and balls.” Kian started to laugh, tipping back in his chair. “They do.”

“Why have you noticed that?”

“Don't know. Must've been into knobs longer than I realised.” He kicked Kian under the table when he wouldn't stop laughing. “Knock it off.”

“Honestly I'm just kind of thinking about handjobs now,” Kian admitted when he'd calmed down. Mark felt himself twinge, saw a cheeky grin when a foot touched his briefly. “We've got fifteen minutes. Want to make a pitstop at the bathrooms?”

Mark began to gather up his things, feeling a little thrill when Kian sauntered away from the table, headed in the right direction.

The bathroom was empty. They picked a stall down at the end, and closed the door. It was a bit cramped, didn't smell great, but it was going to have to do. Mark suspected he didn't have much of a choice, when Kian's hand was already delving into his school trousers.

“Love doing this,” he whispered. Mark buried a moan in his neck. “You have any idea how sexy you are?” Mark shook his head, trying to get Kian's belt open. “Want to...” He swallowed against Mark's ear. “Want to go down on you.”

“Oh god,” Mark muttered. He'd be lying if he hadn't thought about it himself. “Yes.”

“Not here.” Kian was breathing harder. “Want to do everything with you. Feel you. Anything you want.” He bit at Mark's jaw, grip tightening and setting a rhythm. He pulled his hand out, spat on his palm, and then was back in, moving fast. “Please.”

“Kian.” He got Kian's belt undone, then his trousers. Knew they needed to stop talking in case someone came in, but when he felt hard flesh in his hand he couldn't stop the moan that came out. Kian swallowed it down, grinding against him, their hands in the way as their hips fell together, Kian's foot settling up on the lid of the toilet while Mark pushed against his open hips, feeling stiffness.

“Mark.” Kian gulped. “Love you.”

“Need you,” Mark breathed back. “Need...”

He came a few minutes later, moments before Kian did, both of them turning away at the last minute and finishing into a couple of wads of toilet paper Kian yanked off the roll. Not the most romantic of things, in fairness, but Mark didn't mind, not when they were panting and snogging in the stall five minutes later, both of them ready to go again, knowing they didn't have time.

“Let's skip,” Kian suggested. “Come back to mine. I want you.”

“I can't.” He wanted to, though. God, did he want to. “Later.”

“Later,” Kian agreed. He pouted. Mark smirked, kissing away the sulky look on his face. “Definitely later.”

 

*

 

They were at Liverpool station when the police climbed on the train.

Kian froze. He'd just looked up, absently wondering where they were, when suddenly there were two men in dark blue uniforms and yellow visibility vests, sidling through the people in the aisles. Kian looked away, grabbed Mark's hand when he saw the other boy look up too.

“Shh,” he whispered.

The two officers sat down across from them, four seats forward. Mark leaned closer.

“What do we do?”

“We wait,” Kian decided. “That was Scotland, right? Maybe they won't even know to look for us. We're only three hours away from London.” He glanced over at the officers again, but they appeared to be oblivious. “If it looks like anything's up, we get off at the next stop.”

“Okay.” Mark was looking wary. Kian kissed his cheek.

“Love you.”

“Love you.” Mark kissed him back. “We wait.”

 

*

 

“Off to Kian's?”

Mark hesitated in the doorway. He'd thrown his bag over his shoulder, called out that he'd be back later, just like he always did. When he turned around his mother was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Er... yeah. I said I'd help...”

“...him study,” she finished. She was looking at him funny, and Mark didn't know what to say. “You spend a lot of time over there. How much help does he need, really?”

“He's my best friend.” Mark shifted the straps of his backpack awkwardly. He'd been a little worried about this. With the musical over and no excuse for being out all the time, he'd wondered if she'd notice that he was always at Kian's. Apparently she had.

“You have your own school work.”

“I've done all of it, though.” He resisted the urge to check his watch. He was going to be late. He didn't want Kian to worry. Marielle was at a friend's, and Mark had offered to take him to the cinema, both of them laughing at the idea of an actual date. “It's not affecting my work. I promise.” Though, maybe it was. He'd gotten a B on the last essay, knew he'd spent too much time over at Kian's and rushed it the night before.

It had been hard not to be at Kian's though. He'd been a bit unsure when Kian had ducked down, that first time, taken him in, but god, if he liked Kian's hand, Kian's mouth was even better. Mark had returned the favour. He'd had no clue what he was doing, but he'd gone slowly, tried to gauge from Kian's reactions what was good, and within not much time at all Kian had been crying out and spilling into his mouth.

It had not been the first time. It hadn't even been the first time that day.

He was pretty sure he was addicted to Kian.

“Barry was talking about young Marielle the other day. Apparently she said...” She hesitated. “There's no trouble there, is there? She said something about how Kian couldn't buy her new clothes, and how they weren't supposed to open the post.” Mark felt his breath catch. Kian hadn't mentioned it at all, though he wouldn't, being Kian.

“I don't know.” Mark shrugged. “Kids say weird stuff.”

“I suppose. Still...” She bit her lip. “Maybe you shouldn't spend so much time over there. You're probably intruding.”

“I'm not. I promise.” It wasn't like there was anyone to intrude on. “Kian doesn't mind.”

“What about his uncle?”

“He doesn't mind.”

“Maybe I should talk to him, then.”

“No,” Mark said quickly. She raised an eyebrow. “He's usually asleep. Drives at night and that. They're fine, I promise. I don't know what Marielle's talking about.” He could feel himself going red. Fuck. “I'm meeting Kian at the cinema, anyway, so it's not like we're annoying anyone.”

“I thought you were studying.”

“We're going to. We're just meeting there, and then we're going to walk to the Carlton and have something to eat while we study.” He was losing control of this, knew he was. His words were coming out too fast. “Look... Kian's family don't have much money and it'd just embarrass them if you went over. Really. It's nothing like... weird, or anything. I... really, I have to go, though. I'll be late.” He was already halfway out the door.

“Markus...”

“I'll be home before dinner.”

Then the door was closed. Mark jogged down the street, sure that wasn't the last of that conversation.

 

*

 

Kian was already there when Mark arrived, looking impatient and tapping his foot. Mark jogged up an apology already forming on his tongue.

It melted away when Kian turned to look at him.

“What happened?” he asked numbly. Kian shook his head, turning to hide the rather livid black eye.

“Nothing.” He reached up, raking long hair down to cover it. “Just... you know.” He sighed. “So, a date, huh?” He wasn't looking Mark in the eye. Mark reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Kian...”

“It's nothing, Mark,” he snapped. Mark snatched his hand back. “Sorry. What are we seeing?”

“Dunno.” He peered up at the marquee, but they were all soppy romances coming up to Valentine's Day, and the only action film wasn't playing for almost two more hours. “These all look crap. You want to get food instead?”

“Sure.” Kian started to walk, though Mark didn't miss the way he put himself on the inside of the path, so Mark couldn't see his right eye.

“You going to tell me what happened?”

“Nope.” Kian hefted his backpack. “Because then you'll worry, and want to fix it, and you won't be able to, and we'll both be miserable.” His steps quickened slightly. Mark scurried to keep up. “So let's forget it, and in a few days it'll be fine, and we'll go back to normal.”

“Okay,” Mark said quietly. It wasn't, though. Not by a long shot.

The Carlton wasn't too busy. They found a booth near the corner. Shane came over to take their order.

“Brilliant shiner, Kian,” he said straight away. Mark squirmed.

“Yeah, fuck off,” Kian laughed. “Do the observations come free with the milkshake?”

“Five percent surcharge.” Shane winked. “Might need to look where you're going, stop walking into people's fists.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Shane took their orders and wandered off, laughing over his shoulder when Kian made a sarcastic comment about holding the salmonella. Mark touched his hand under the table.

“Really okay?”

Kian didn't reply, just brushed his hair down over his eye and kept staring at the menu.

 

*

 

They were just about to leave when Shane came sidling over.

“Hey.” He touched Mark's shoulder. Kian looked at them warily. “Erm... just a heads up, but someone called to see if you were here. Could have been your mam, maybe, but she said she didn't want to talk to you when I said I'd get you. I just thought you should know.”

Mark didn't know what to say. Kian was looking at him curiously, and Shane was looking nervous, like he wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing.

“Oh... thanks Shane. Yeah, it was probably my mam.” He glanced at his watch. “I was supposed to ring her to let her know where I was. Must've forgot.” Shane nodded.

“Oh. Cool. Okay, great, I wasn't sure if that was right or not.” He let out a relieved laugh. “Well, cool. I'll see you round, then. Kian, don't get into any more fights.”

Kian promised he wouldn't. It was already dark when they stepped outside, the winter air cold and close, shivering on his skin.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Mark replied promptly. If Kian could keep secrets, so could he. “Who hit you?”

“No-one,” Kian replied just as quickly. They looked at each other awkwardly.

Mark nodded, and started to head for home, Kian stalking along beside him.

 

*

 

Kian didn't come to school the next day. When Mark called that afternoon Marielle said he was at work, that he'd be home after five. When he called again she said he was in the shower. When he called a third time, she said he was in bed.

He showed up on Wednesday, eye looking a little better, but still purpled underneath. Nobody talked to him, he just sank into his seat and put his head down, doodling in the margins while their teacher droned on. Mark caught up to him between periods, their paths crossing on the way to class.

“Alright?”

“Fine.” Kian wouldn't look up all the way. “Had to work.”

“What about school?”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Probably not much point. Not going to pass, anyway, and at least then I'll have money coming in.”

“You've been doing well, though.”

“I haven't.” Kian looked up, then. Mark flinched. His eye looked awful. “You have, with your straight As and all the rest of it. I barely scrape by, and I can't even do that without your help.” It was still better than he'd been doing previously. Mark had been so proud of him. Now it appeared Kian didn't quite feel the same way. “I didn't even want to fight, just some prick pushed it too far and I got angry and...” He touched it gingerly. “I hate it here.”

“Why are you here, then? Why haven't you dropped out already?”

Kian didn't appear to have an answer to that. When Mark went to say more Kian pushed past him and walked away, not looking back.

 

*

 

The police officers got off at Sheffield, and Kian allowed himself to relax, finally. Mark did too, sagging into his seat as the doors closed and the train began to move again. Half an hour later they saw some ticket collectors come through when they were stopped at a station, so they quickly nipped off and climbed back on into a carriage they'd already checked, finding new seats closer to the front. Mark was laughing, looked almost surprised at his own rebelliousness.

“We're like Bonnie and Clyde,” Kian teased.

“You're Bonnie, then.”

“That's okay. Clyde went down first.” Kian elbowed him. Mark pouted. “No, we'll go out together, you and me. Blaze of glory.”

Mark kissed his cheek.

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

*

 

“But why can't I...”

“No, honey.” Mark's mam looked up at Barry, who was looking confused. “You know I don't want you going to friend's houses when I haven't met their parents.”

“Mark goes over there all the time, though, and...”

“Mark's almost seventeen,” his dad said.

“But Kian's there.”

“Kian's not her dad,” his mother pointed out. “No.” She looked back down at her meal. The conversation was finished. Mark knew that tone too well. “Mark's not allowed to go over there either.”

“But...” Mark looked up, startled. “Since when?”

“Since now.” She raised an eyebrow. “I spoke to your English teacher. She said you've been distracted, that your last essay was not your best work. She also said that Kian has been skipping school.”

“He hasn't...” Mark didn't know what he'd been doing, in fairness. He hadn't shown up all week. “He's been sick.”

“Then you won't be going over there anyway. I don't want you to catch something this close to exams.” Mark shook his head. No. This wasn't right. “You've only got a year left, Mark, and I have to say I haven't liked your attitude the last few months. You're not taking any of this seriously.”

“But...”

“How can you expect to get into a good school if you...”

“I don't _care_ about school!” he retorted. She paused, hand still on her fork and face going too still. His dad was doing much the same. “Maybe I don't even want to go! Maybe I want to do normal things for once and not always have to worry about whether I got a good mark or not!” He stood up. “This is bullshit.”

“Sit back down.” His dad's voice was hard. “You don't talk to your mother like that.”

“Why? Neither of you ever seem to give a shit what _I_ want!” Kian. He just wanted Kian. “I'm going out.”

“Sit. Down.” His dad stood up. His dad never looked like that. Never. But then, Mark had never shouted like this before. Mark crossed his arms, looking down at the table. “Fine. You want to act like a child? Go to your room.”

“Make me.”

“Room. Now.” He pointed at the stairs. “Don't make me ask again.” Mark looked around helplessly. His brothers were staring at him in rapt horror, like they couldn't believe this was happening. Mark couldn't either. “No allowance for a month.”

“I'll get a job, then.”

“Good, then you can pay a third of the bills.” He pointed. “Now.”

“But...”

“Two months.”

“Dad...”

“You want to push it to six?” Mark's mouth stuttered on empty words.

He fled for the stairs, tears stinging in his eyes.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“I'm really sorry.”

“It's okay.” Kian wrapped both arms around him, holding him in tighter. Mark wished he could find the words to say how he was feeling. Angry and betrayed and like there was nothing in the world that worked but Kian. Wishing that was true, that there weren't so many secrets between them, that he could help.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” They were curled in a couple of streets behind the church, in a little copse of trees at the back of the park, where they often met. His mother had dropped him off at choir, said she'd be back to pick him up in two hours, and Mark had hopped the fence to meet Kian.

He'd called him from a payphone at school. Kian still hadn't come back, and Mark needed him. Needed to talk to him. To know that something in his life was okay.

“Where have you been?”

“Working.” Kian hesitated. “I'm not... coming back to school.”

“Why?”

“Bunch of reasons.” Kian stroked his hair, soothing and sweet. “I was going to drop out when I turned sixteen, you know? Work full time and try to keep things going at home, but then...” He sighed. “I would have dropped out sooner, but with Marielle I wanted to set a good example. She's bright. I want her to get an education, not think it's okay to give up. I was going to give it a few more months, hope things got better, but then...” He hesitated. “Mark... I don't know where my uncle is.”

“I figured,” Mark admitted. Kian nodded.

“Yeah, well.” He sighed. “He was never around much. He gets payments, you know? For fostering us. Not that we ever saw the money, but it kind of worked at least, and at least we weren't back in the system. We were, for almost a year, when it all happened. They split us up, and I can't...” His voice broke. Mark felt a lump fill his own throat. “I lived in three houses in nine months, and they were all awful. I won't let her do that.”

“What happened?”

“Too much. The only thing I can trust is me, that I can take care of her. Nobody else will, not the way she deserves.” He swallowed. “Anyway. You showed up, and I thought you were a bit of a twat, but then... I kind of wanted to come to school every day, even though it was awful. Maybe I was just curious. You were obviously mental, but...” He took Mark's hand. “My uncle left two weeks before the talent show. He hasn't come back since. No money, no nothing. He had this girlfriend, and I think they just took off together, left us...” He looked away. “That pathetic fuck.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault. But... your mam's right, isn't she? I do my best, but I'm not worth it, not really. I'm so sorry. I was trying so hard...”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don't know. If I talk to the bank or someone they'll know we're on our own. Work, try to pay off the rent. The power's getting turned off next week. I can't keep telling them my uncle's away, can I?” He bit his lip. “Fuck. It was all shit, but now it's gone too far and I don't know what to...” He was crying, then, leaning into Mark's shoulder. “It's fucked,” he sobbed. “It's all fucked.”

Mark held him tighter, his heart breaking.

 

*

 

He made it back to the church five minutes before his mam was due to pick him up. It was hard to climb back in the car, even harder not to burst into tears on the trip. Kian was out there, probably walking home to a house he couldn't afford to keep, to take care of a sister that meant the world to him.

He climbed the stairs silently, declining the offer of dinner. He didn't think he could swallow a single bite. His parents allowed it. He didn't think they much wanted to look at him either.

“Mark?”

He looked up. Barry was lurking in the doorway, looking nervous. Mark forced a smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He sidled into the room. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded. “Do you think Marielle likes me?”

Mark laughed out loud, saw Barry go bright red and back away.

“Baz, hey...” He put out a hand to stop him. His brother hesitated in the doorway. “Do you want to...” He patted the bed next to him. Barry came over and sat down. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Barry was still blushing. “Erm.”

“Marielle, hey?” Of course his brother liked Marielle. You'd be stupid not to notice. “Why? Do you like her?”

“She's cool,” his brother said carefully. “Just... I was talking to her on the phone and she said I wouldn't be able to call her next week because they wouldn't have a phone, and I was thinking maybe she didn't actually want to talk to me? Like... everyone has a phone, right?”

“Oh.” Mark grimaced. “Well... maybe they're trying to save electricity or something?” he suggested. “Do you have a crush on her?”

“No. She's just a girl.” Barry pulled a face. “She's pretty cool, though. For a girl. Like, she fell off her bike last week and she didn't even cry or anything. She spat on the graze and said it was nature's Dettol.” Mark laughed at that one. That sounded like Marielle. Sounded like Kian, too, come to that. They were a pair. “She hugged me last week. It was weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Just... weird.” Barry was really going red now. Bloody hell, twelve years old and already in deep. Marielle'd be turning twelve in a few months as well. “I like hanging out with my friends, but I like hanging out with her more.”

“She's pretty cool.” He patted his brother carefully on the back. “Do you get butterflies when you think about her?”

“Yeah,” Barry sighed. “And I never know what to say. And I can't find the right words, so I just keep talking and none of it makes any sense and she probably thinks I'm an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Mark snorted, remembering babbling on at Kian while his boyfriend had stared at him in total askance, like he was wondering who this mental was. “Well... how about I ask her, and if she likes you I'll let you know?”

“Don't do that!” His brother looked horrified. Mark giggled to himself. “Then she'll know I like her back!”

“How will you know, otherwise? What if she does like you, and you miss out?”

“What if she doesn't?”

“Can't help you there. I guess sometimes you just have to say what you mean.” He patted his brother on the shoulder. “You can't let what someone else might think ruin it for you. Then you'd never do anything cool.” Barry was standing already, obviously mortified. “Best advice I can give, I guess. Do it, or don't, but don't get upset when you find out you should have.”

Barry nodded, and walked away, eyes on the ground and steps slow and thoughtful. The door shut behind him. Mark snorted, looked at the pile of homework on his desk.

Fuck it.

 

*****

 

It was freezing outside. Mark ran at first, the excitement and daring getting to him and giving him wings. After the first few blocks, though, a stitch in his side and his lungs on fire, he had to admit defeat and stumble on at a much more reasonable walk. Romantic gestures were great, and all, but he wasn't exactly big on stamina.

“Kian.” He knocked hard on the door, waiting while there was movement inside. The door swung open.

“Mark?” Kian's eyes widened. “What are you...”

“Hi. I...” He looked around, not at all sure what he'd meant to say or do, just that he had to be here. “I snuck out.”

“Okay.” Kian unlocked the screen.

“I climbed out a window.”

“Congratulations,” Kian chuckled, letting him through. “Was your door broken?”

“No. Well... my parents said.” His parents. Fuck, they were going to kill him. “Er...” Marielle was peering around the corner again. “Hello.”

“Come in, you eejit.” The door closed. That was warmer at least. “Cocoa?”

“Yes.” He shivered his way to the couch. Marielle was reading a book, but looked up long enough to give him a kind of curious look like she suspected he was a bit of a moron. She was probably right. “Thank you,” he said, when there was a steaming mug in his hands a few minutes later. “I ran. Or... I ran part of the way.”

“I'm impressed.” Kian sat down next to him, squashed in between Mark and Marielle.

“We're going to stay with my dad!” Marielle piped up. Mark looked at her in surprise. “Can you tell Barry when I get a new phone number?”

“Sure.” Mark felt numb. He looked at Kian, who was shrugging, looking apologetic. “Uh...”

“Mark and I need to have a chat, baby.” Kian stood up. Marielle shrugged, going back to her book. The TV wasn't on. Mark wondered if it was even working. He followed Kian into his bedroom. There was a suitcase in the corner, a couple of large bags.

“What's going on?”

“I'm leaving.” Kian bit his lip. “I... found some stuff, a couple of weeks ago. In my uncle's closet, when I was looking for something for Marielle to wear. She's shot out of all her clothes, and I thought maybe there'd be a few coats or...” He took a deep breath. “I found a letter. From my dad. It was from two years ago, but it had his address on it, and...” Mark felt his heart tighten. “My uncle asked if he wanted custody, sent papers, and it came back declined. He knew where my dad was this whole time and...” His eyes flashed with anger. Mark took his hand.

“But if he doesn't want you...”

“I don't care if he doesn't. He's our dad. He can do something. Say... something. I don't give a shit about me, but if I show up with Marielle, what's he going to say? He going to throw a little girl out into the cold?”

“What if he does?”

“Then we figure it out.” Kian crossed his arms. “The people from the real estate came by again, said they were bringing the police next time, so what else am I going to do? We have to go.”

“But...”

“I love you.” Kian leaned in, pressed a kiss to Mark's mouth. “If there was something I was going to stay for, it would be you. You know that.” Mark pulled him in, holding on so tight he didn't think he could ever let go. “They're coming on Friday. We'll leave on Thursday night.”

“Kian...” He kissed Kian's neck. “Stay. There has to be something else...”

“I'll call you when I get there,” Kian promised. Mark sobbed. This was goodbye, he realised. “Take care of my birds, okay?” Mark promised that he would. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Mark whispered.

“Go home.” Kian kissed him. “Go home, okay? Your parents will worry. They love you.”

Mark didn't let go, not until Kian did.

 

*

 

Mark sat in silence in the Carlton. He'd gotten home late the night before, climbed back in the window. His parents, blessedly, hadn't checked to see if he was in his room, and for that he was grateful. Maybe that was one benefit of being a sulking teenager.

He'd skipped school today. For the first time in his life. It was surreal, but he'd gotten to the gates, stared up at the building, and then just hadn't been able to go in. He'd wandered for ages, not sure where to go, and ended up stumbling in, wanting at least a friendly face.

Shane had taken one look at him and brought him a milkshake, on the house.

“What's wrong?” Shane had slid into the booth across from him. It was almost dead, after breakfast and before lunch, and there wasn't much else to do.

“I can't tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It's not...” He bit his lip. Kian was going, anyway, so what was the difference? “I'm in love with Kian.”

“I know.” Mark looked up in surprise. “I'm not stupid,” Shane chuckled. “You're practically in each other's pockets, and I've seen the way you look at each other. It's pathetic.” He patted Mark's hand. “He knows?”

“Yes. I mean, yeah. We're - we _were –_ together.”

“Not anymore?”

“No. Yes. I don't...” He sighed. “He's leaving. I don't want him to go, but I know why he has to, you know?”

“Where's he going?”

“Just... away.” That was Kian's secret to tell, not his. “I was really happy,” he whispered. Shane sighed.

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah. Well.” Mark drained his milkshake, pushed it aside. It didn't wash down the lump in his throat. “It's not like I could tell my parents. All they care about is that I'm getting good marks and doing what they want me to do. They don't even want me being friends with him, let alone...” He covered his mouth, holding back the rush of emotion.

“What do you want?”

“Kian. I want him so badly it hurts.” Shane made a sympathetic noise. “I can't make him stay.”

“I think he was happy, too,” Shane said. “I know he's always trying not to care, but he cared about you.” Mark wanted a hug, suddenly. Wanted it from Kian. “I can't fix it, but...” He shrugged. “Make sure he knows how you feel before he goes. You might not have another chance.” Mark nodded.

“He knows.”

“Good.” Shane stood up. “Same again?”

“No. I have to...” Mark stood up. “Gotta go.”

“Okay.” Shane smiled knowingly. “Better hurry, then.”

 

*

 

London was busy. Kian had no idea where they were, except that the streets were crowded, there were cabs and buses everywhere, and it was so noisy he didn't know how to think around it. Mark was staring up at the buildings, so tall they blocked out the sky.

“Wow,” he muttered. Kian laughed, taking his hand. “Where do we go?”

“Don't know.” He looked down at the crumpled envelope he'd pulled out of his backpack. “Bexley.” He looked around, then saw a cab driver looking bored, waiting in a taxi rank with the window wound down. “Excuse me?”

It turned out Bexley was still over an hour away by car. Mark sighed.

“Fuck. Train, maybe?”

“Guess so.” They started to walk back to the station. Mark put a hand on his stomach, grimacing. “Hungry?”

“I'm okay.”

“You're hungry.” Kian was as well. They had a couple of fivers left, so he dug them out and towed Mark towards the local McDonalds. “Come on.”

“You don't have to...”

“We're almost at the end of the line anyway,” Kian pointed out. “We'll get you fed, and then we'll go find this miserable piece of shit so he can get me my sister back.” He felt a swell of rage. It was so close now he could feel it. Mark squeezed his hand.

“It's going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” Kian wasn't convinced. “Come on.”

 

*

 

Kian wasn't at home. Mark knocked, sure he'd missed him. It was still Wednesday, though. Kian wasn't going anywhere until tomorrow night. He couldn't be gone yet.

“Kian!” he called, in case Kian thought he was the police. “Marielle! It's Mark! Please...” He hammered furiously, but nobody was home. Where would Kian go? He didn't...

He turned and headed for the school.

 

*

 

He climbed the ladder slowly. He'd never done this on his own, never been up there with the birds without Kian. He still didn't think he was very sure about them, definitely didn't want one swooping at his head, but he had promised Kian he'd take care of them so he supposed he was going to have to go up sooner or later. Part of him had almost liked the idea, like a little piece of Kian he could keep.

He could tell something was wrong already.

“Kian...”

Kian was there, hunched over on his knees. Mark looked around. All the little nests were gone, the birdhouse broken. He looked for the birds, but didn't see them. Kian was still on his knees, facing away.

“What...?”

“They...” Kian sobbed. “They must have found out. They've cleared out all the nests and.” He sobbed again, voice thick and almost lost to tears. “I found...”

“Oh god.” Mark sank down next to him. There was a small bundle, brown fluff. It was stiff, twisted unnaturally. “Kian. Is that...”

“He wasn't hurting anyone.” Kian bent lower over the bird. A breeze slid through, ruffling dull feathers. “He wasn't hurting anyone. Why couldn't they just leave him _alone_.” He wouldn't let go, hands cradling the little body so carefully, it's feet clenched towards the cloudy sky. “No.”

“I'm so sorry.”

 _“NO.”_ Kian shrieked. Mark flinched back in shock. “Fuck it. No.” He put Tom down, hands trembling, and sat back on his haunches, arms shielding his face. “No.”

“I'm so sorry,” Mark whispered again, gathering him up. Kian fought him, but Mark held fast, needing to comfort even if Kian didn't want it. He sagged after a moment, shaking. Mark held him, tried to turn him away from the bird, but everywhere he looked there was just more evidence of what Kian had lost. He doubted the birds would come back. Not now. Not when it wasn't safe.

He held Kian for a long time, until the bell rang for lunch.

Then they climbed down.

 


	12. Chapter 12

If Kian never had McDonalds again, he thought he'd be happy about that decision. Mark didn't seem fazed, was happily digging into a burger off the cheap lunch menu. Kian smirked. He was adorable, this boy. Kian loved him.

He didn't think he could eat, himself. His stomach was in knots.

So close. They were so close.

He went to use the bathroom. When he got back there were three police officers stood at their table, Mark looking up in surprise.

Kian froze.

No.

Mark looked at him. Kian looked back.

 _“Run,”_ Mark mouthed. One of the policemen looked over his shoulder. Kian stared. No. He couldn't leave Mark. He wouldn't.

“Run!” Mark shouted.

Kian did, shoving through the door, tears streaming from his eyes.

 

*

 

“Where are we going?”

“To get Marielle.” Kian was storming ahead so fast Mark could barely keep up, his feet angry and hard on the cement. “We're getting out of here.”

“But...”

They were halfway across the grass when they saw them. Three police officers, looking serious. They were talking to Ms Lewis, who was gesturing, and Mark's parents, who were looking even more serious than the police. He'd skipped. They'd probably called his parents, who of course had panicked, and...

“Fuck,” he heard Kian whisper. It was too late. They'd already been seen. Mark froze. Kian...

Kian ran.

Mark didn't know what else to do, so he sprinted after.

 

*

 

Kian was blind with tears by the time he was sure he'd escaped. His chest was burning, a savage stitch starting to bite into his side, made worse by the sobs heaving out of his throat. He made it into an alleyway and sank down beside a skip, feeling like he couldn't take another step.

He'd left Mark behind.

Mark had told him to go.

He'd left Mark behind. He'd promised.

He'd promised.

 

*

 

“Come on,” Kian growled. Mark panted, trying to catch up. “Move it.”

“I can't...” He was out of breath already, flagging badly. Kian was already twenty feet ahead of him. “I can't,” he gasped again. The footsteps ahead of him slowed, then stopped. Kian glanced over his head. They'd made it across the field, turned what had felt like a hundred corners, trying to lose the police. Maybe it was that they hadn't exactly expected Mark to run, he was only playing truant, after all, but they'd gotten a decent head-start.

“Okay. Breathe.” Kian came back. “Let's go.”

“Where?”

“The school,” Kian said. “We have to get Marielle.”

“They'll see you.” Mark managed to stand up straight. This was pathetic, really. He'd have to start jogging or something, once this was all over. “I'll get her.”

“You just ran from the police. And your mam,” Kian laughed. “I think they'll notice you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Mark blushed. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he admitted. Kian's eyes softened.

“Never. I'd never leave you behind.” He kissed Mark gently. They were on an old bike path, behind the church, quite close to where they had met when Mark had skipped choir. “Come on. We'll find somewhere to lie low, and then we'll go to mine after school, get her when she gets home.” Mark nodded. Not a perfect plan, but there weren't any other options. He wondered if the police were looking for Kian now, or if it was just him still. He wondered how annoyed his parents were.

“I'd never leave you either.” Mark caught his hand, began to walk as quickly as his aching side would allow. “Not ever.”

“Good.” There were still tears drying on Kian's cheeks. Mark held his hand tighter.

 

*

 

“Shit.”

Mark bit his lip. Kian was right. There was a police car outside Kian's house. He wondered if there was one outside his own. Marielle would be due home any moment now, and they'd left it to the last minute, not wanting to be caught.

He was about to suggest that they double back, try to intercept her, but before he could he saw dark hair and a school uniform that sat a little too snugly. She'd been hitting another growth-spurt lately, was suddenly three inches taller. She was looking at the ground, dawdling along, and by the time she looked up there was already a police-woman kneeling down in front of her.

They spoke for a moment. Marielle looked guarded, pulled back slightly when she was spoken to, tucking hair behind her ear. The police-woman was obviously asking questions, and Marielle was nodding, shaking her head, and nodding again. Kian bit his lip.

She was led towards the police car.

“No,” Kian whispered. The door closed. “No...” He was already trying to move out of the bushes. Mark held him back.

“Stay.” It hurt to say it. Kian looked at him, tears in his eyes. “There's nothing you can do.”

 

*

 

The police left after a couple of hours. When they were gone Mark and Kian cut over to the street behind and hopped the fence of the house that backed onto Kian's, just in case there was anyone still about keeping an eye out. Kian let them inside and headed straight for his bedroom.

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to find my dad.” He scooped up the bags Mark had seen packed the other night. “I'm getting her back.”

“Kian, how...”

“I don't know.” Kian threw the bags into the hallway, then went back to get his backpack. “I don't fucking know, Mark. Just...”

“You don't have a car.”

“I'll fucking nick one from the garage, then. There's always keys hanging around.”

“You'll be a criminal, then. Do you really want...?”

“I don't _care_.” Kian was crying. “I don't care. I just...” He headed for the pantry, started to shove what little food there was in a bag. Mark went to flick the kitchen light on, and then realised there was no power. It was getting dim in here, the afternoons still dark as they headed into April. Kian would be seventeen in a few weeks, Mark realised. He hadn't even gotten him a present yet.

“Stop.” Mark put a hand on his shoulder. “Think.” Kian sagged, sobbing. Mark wrapped his arms around him. “Okay, what do you need?”

“My sister back.”

“I know, but...” Mark kissed his ear. “Think it through. You need a car.”

“I need a car,” Kian breathed. “I need... a car. And... money.” Mark nodded. “My dad's address. My bags.” He glanced at the hallway. “You,” he whispered. A soft swell of love pushed away the worry, for just a moment. Mark wrapped around him, wanting to absorb Kian into himself. “They can't take her. Everything else is gone.”

“Not me,” Mark promised. “Okay.” He stepped back a little. “I'm going back home.” Kian's eyes widened in horror. “Just for a little bit,” he added. “I'm going to tell my parents I'm sorry, and I'm going to go to bed. Then I'm going to wait until everyone's asleep, see what I can get from mam's purse, take the car, and come get you. Then we're going to go to London.”

“Can you drive?”

“Dad taught me to drive when I was twelve.” One of the few benefits of home-schooling. If Mark said he wanted to learn something, chances were they were going to teach him, study time permitting. “I don't have a license, but as long as I drive carefully we shouldn't get pulled over.” And hopefully they wouldn't notice he was missing until the morning, giving him time to get far enough away.

“You don't have to do this.”

“I do.” Mark kissed him. “We're going to London.” He smiled. “Anyway, how hard could it be?”

 

*

 

Kian wandered slowly down the street. He'd made it, finally. A train and a bus later, trying to keep tears at bay as he dropped the last of his money into the ticket machine. Now he was walking along a quiet suburban street, looking for the number on the door.

It was a small house. White and tidy, a little terrace with a blue door. His feet were lead as he climbed the stairs.

He really wished Mark was here.

The knock sounded too quiet, hollow. After a moment the door swung open.

“Hello?”

A boy, about ten, maybe. Kian swallowed.

“Hi. Erm...” Fuck, he had the wrong address. He almost started laughing. All this and it was for nothing. “Does Kevin live here?”

“That's my dad. Wait...” The boy trotted off. Kian stared. It hadn't taken him long then. Left while his mam had been pregnant, and this boy had to be barely a year younger than Marielle. He swallowed down a swell of rage.

“Yes?”

It was him. Older and shorter than Kian remembered, but considering he'd been five at the time that wasn't a surprise.

“Dad?” he managed. The man on the doorstep froze. “It's... it's Kian. Your...”

The door slammed in his face.

Kian stood still for a long moment. Then he sat down on the doorstep, burying his head in his arms.

He was still there an hour later, when the police came and collected him for trespassing.

 

*

 

The trip back was in near silence. His dad came to collect him. His mam had to be at home with his brothers, after all, and it wasn't like they could come all this way just to bring home an idiot runaway who had thought it was good idea to steal the car and go on a joyride.

They'd found the car. His dad said it was already home, that Mark could set about paying off the impound fees with chores. Mark just stared out the window of the car until the reached the airport. His dad said his mother had been worried sick. Mark nodded and clicked on his seatbelt, feeling his ears pop as they rose, the sky hard blue above dove-grey clouds.

“And that Kian lad...”

“Don't,” Mark whispered. His dad looked at him in surprise. “Just don't.”

“Mark.”

“Just leave me alone.” He turned back to the window as the earth fell away from beneath him.

 

*

 

He didn't go back to school on Monday. His parents discussed it, decided that the whole high-school thing had been a horrible mistake, that this was why they didn't want him in the public school system anyway. They didn't ask his opinion. They didn't want it. He was effectively grounded, spent every moment not sleeping or studying doing housework, polishing and dusting like it made a difference. Like it was somehow payment for anything that had happened.

He waited. For a phone call. A letter.

After three weeks he started to think maybe Kian wasn't coming back.

After six, he was almost sure.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Happy birthday to you...”

Mark forced a smile, looking at the cake on the kitchen table. His mother had made it, his favourite. She carved off a piece, beaming while she placed in front of him.

“Seventeen,” one of his nanas commented. “And very handsome, too.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. His dad clapped him on the shoulder. He managed a few bites, but could barely swallow. It was his birthday, and Kian wasn't here. Kian was supposed to be here.

“You okay?”

“Not hungry.” Mark pushed the plate gently away. They all looked at him warily. Had been doing that, since he'd gotten back, like he was a powder keg with a hidden fuse, sputtering away back there for god knew how long. Probably hormones, or something.

“It's your favourite.”

“I know. I'll have some later. Thanks, though.”

They gave him presents. He was very gracious, opened them, thanked people for things he didn't really need or want. When it was over they all wandered off home, leaving him sat on the sofa alone while his mam did the dishes.

“What's this?” His eye had just caught it, the shimmer of shiny paper. He leaned forward, picked up a flat, wrapped parcel off the coffee table.

“Oh... that came in the post today,” his dad said. “Thought I put it in with your others, but must have forgot. Happy birthday.” He nodded. “Who's it from?”

“Don't know.” Mark picked at the corners. A CD. He'd gotten a bunch of them, most of which he already had. He peeled off the paper, saw the flash of silver pen on a black and gold cover.

“What's that?”

Mark shook his head, heart stuttering still. He stood up, looked out the window, though of course there was nothing to see. He looked back down at the CD again, at Smile, a silver heart drawn around it.

“I have to go.” He went to grab a coat, pulled it on. His parents were already standing.

“Where are you...”

“I'll be back soon. Just...” He was out the door already. He heard his mother shout. He knew what they were thinking, idiot boy running away again, but he wasn't. Couldn't. He was running to, and...

His dad caught him halfway down the block, cruising slowly in the car while Mark tried to get his breath.

“Get in.” He gestured at the passenger seat. “Come on. It's almost eleven, and you were always a shite runner. Get in.”

Mark nodded, and slid into the car.

“Where are we going?”

Mark asked for Kian's house, please.

 

*

 

“I'll see you on Friday.”

“Kian...” She hugged him tight. Kian hugged her back. She'd sprouted already, seemed to be growing in front of his eyes.

“These people nice to you?” he whispered. She nodded. “Good.” He pulled back a little, glanced up at the woman standing watching them. She did seem nice, by all accounts. Maybe some people just were. Maybe, in fact, some people actually wanted to help. “Thanks.”

“Pleasure's ours. She's a darling.” The house was nice too. Outskirts of Donegal, not too far from home. She had just started at her new school, seemed to be loving it. Her clothes fit. Not too big and not too small. She looked beautiful. “You're welcome to visit whenever you like.”

“Might... let her settle in for a bit.” She nodded. The dad was cool, too. They had a few kids, two adopted and three fosters. Marielle was already getting on with them, had been telling stories all day about her new brothers and sisters.

Kian hoped it'd work out. It was everything he'd ever wanted for her.

“Stay for dinner?”

“Can't. Got somewhere to be.” He pulled Marielle into another hug. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you, Kian.” He looked up as he heard familiar tinkling from the other room. “They've got a piano here. Corey said he's going to teach me to play.”

“That's amazing, honey.” He stood up. “You show me when you learn something, alright?” She nodded. “Gotta go. It's Mark's birthday.”

“Is Barry going to be there?” she said quickly. Kian snorted, and shook his head.

“Don't know. I'll say hi if I see him, though.” She nodded solemnly, obviously trying to look cavalier about the whole thing.

He wished them goodbye, jogging carefully down the steps. It had been a mad few weeks. The police had taken him back to the station, discovered he was wanted for questioning. Kian had explained the situation, and seeing as there were no formal charges and Mark had been found, he was sent back to Ireland to explain to the Sligo police why they'd been abandoned by their legal guardian, and why his eleven year old sister had been left alone.

He'd made it back to Ireland with his backpack and empty pockets. She'd already been found a home. He wasn't allowed to see her straight away, pending investigation, but as he was a minor and was technically a victim as well, it had been resolved fairly quickly. They were still looking for Uncle Eddie. There were months worth of rent and bills in his name that hadn't been paid, after all.

He didn't know how to talk to Mark. How to even begin. Instead he headed north, organised a meeting with the family Marielle was staying with. She'd shrieked with excitement when she'd seen him come up the drive, and he wasn't sure which one of them had been crying more. He'd promised to stay close by, had found a job at the local garage and managed to get into a share house with one of the lads that worked there and four other boys. He wasn't going back to school, knew that too well, but this felt steady, like an opportunity, and he wasn't going to give that up.

Thinking about Mark became second nature, after a while. Where he was and how he was doing. Kian hoped he was okay, wondered if maybe he should just stay away, if he'd brought too much trouble down on him. Mark was beautiful, and clever, and had a bright future.

He made it to Mark's door that afternoon, lifted his hand hesitantly to knock.

No.

He couldn't.

He pulled the CD out from under his arm. He'd wanted Mark to have it, to know that Kian was thinking of him. Wanted to give it to him so they could listen to it together, an old song that made him think of two perfect people.

He left it in the letterbox, and headed back towards the bus-stop.

 

*

 

“Kian!” Mark hammered on the front door. It was silent, dead. People had come a few weeks before, to repossess the property, all the furniture. It didn't matter. Everything Kian had wanted to keep was in his bag, under Mark's bed where he'd taken it from the back of the car after he'd gotten home.

Kian's clothes, Kian's shoes. Everything but the stuff Kian had most wanted, the family photos and a few other things, in the backpack he'd had on when he'd run.

When Mark had told him to run.

“Kian!”

“Mark.” His dad was behind him. “He's not here.”

“But...” Mark looked down at the CD in his hand. Maybe it wasn't a sign after all, he realised. Maybe Kian had been returning it.

Maybe Kian didn't want it any more.

He headed back to the car, heart heavy.

 

*

 

Kian sat on the roof, looking out over the town.

It was pretty up here. He'd never been at night, and Sligo was sparkling, blinking little white and gold stars through the darkness, clustered around the dark line of the river, the trees and fields written into the world like ink. He leaned back on his hands and breathed in deep, wishing...

There was a bit of nest spilling out of a crack in the bricks. Remnants, probably, from when they'd cleared out the sparrows. He picked idly at the straw, wondering how deep it went.

There was an annoyed chirrup, and he laughed in surprise as a little brown head poked out, then another, then another, beady eyes looking at him accusingly for waking them up.

“Hello,” he laughed. They chirped and disappeared again, though one didn't. It hopped out, peering curiously up at him, then did a little loop in the air before landing on the ground, looking at him like he might have food. “Who are you?”

It didn't have a reply. After a while it seemed to realise that he didn't have anything to offer and disappeared back into the crack, tail wriggling through. Kian grinned to himself, looking out over the city.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I'm going.”

 

*

 

He slumped back into the house with a heavy heart. He headed towards the kitchen to get a glass of water, intending to go to bed. He felt sick, and not from too much cake.

“Sit down,” his mother said. His dad was still standing, shrugging off his coat. Mark hesitated for a moment, then did, sinking down across from her at the kitchen table. “What's going on?”

“Nothing.” A lump thickened in his throat. “Nothing, apparently.” He looked down at the CD, then put it carefully on the table. “It doesn't matter.”

“I don't know what's gotten into you, running around at all hours of the...”

“Leave it.” He looked up, feeling suddenly strong. There was nothing left. What was the fucking point anymore? “Would just leave it, for once in your life?”

“Mark...”

“No.” His hands clenched into fists. “You know what? No. I do everything. Everything you've ever asked me to do, I've done it, because you said it was right, and maybe... maybe you're wrong. Maybe you don't even know who I am.”

“We've given you every...”

“No, you've given me what I never wanted to have.” He tried to steady his breathing. He was angry, wanted to shout, but knew that if he did it would just look like he was being childish. “I don't want to study law, mam. I never did. I don't even know if I want to go to university. I want to do a gap year, and maybe travel, or maybe I could do teaching or something, or music or... I don't know what I want to do. I just know I don't want to do this.”

She didn't look like she knew what to say. His dad sat down beside her. Mark looked down at the CD, at the little silver heart he'd drawn months ago.

“So it was all for nothing, then,” she said finally. “All that potential, and you're just going to throw it away.”

“No, I'm going to be _me_.” He forced his hands to unclench. “I appreciate it. I do. I know you did what you thought was right, but...” He felt his voice break. “I feel like I'm dying inside. Do you get that? I can't breathe half the time, and the only thing that made it better was...” He took a deep breath. His parents were still staring at him. He didn't know if they were angry or not. Didn't know if he cared any more.

“Mark?”

“I love him,” Mark whispered. He saw them both go still. He swallowed. “And he's gone, and I just wanted to help, but I couldn't ask you. Because he wasn't good enough. He was always good enough for me.”

“Mark.” There were arms around him, then. He sobbed, felt her stroke his hair. “I'm sorry you felt like...”

“He was mine.” Mark shoved away. “And he's not coming back.” He stood, began to head for the stairs, the CD still clasped in his hand. “I'm going to bed. I can't...”

They let him go.

 

*

 

Kian stood outside the house, looking for light in a window.

There was none. Probably made sense, almost two in the morning. Mark's bedroom was around the back, upstairs. He'd only been to Mark's a couple of times, but he knew where Mark should be. He slunk around the house and looked up, wanting some sign.

“Mark,” he hissed. There was nothing. He bit his lip, looking around for a pebble or something to throw.

The porch light clicked on.

“Kian.” Mark's dad, stood at the back door with his arms crossed.

“Hi... I...” He didn't know what to say. Mark's mother was sidling into the space beside his father, looking stern. “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I was just...” He swallowed, trying to think what to say. “Look, I know you don't like me, but I... I needed to talk to him. Please. I'm sorry about everything. I didn't mean...” He took a deep breath. “I have a job and... a flat. And I know I was never good at school but I've got my little sister set up in a really nice place and I'm... I'm trying. I am.”

He realised he was babbling. Now he knew how Mark felt, he supposed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at expressions that hadn't changed.

“It's very late,” she said.

“I know. I'm sorry.” He glanced up at the dark window again.

“We were worried sick.” Mark's dad was uncrossing his arms. Kian nodded, hanging his head.

“I'm sorry.”

He heard Mark's mam sigh.

“I suppose you'd better come inside, then.” The door opened a little wider. Kian looked up in surprise.

“Really?”

“Before I change my mind.” She stepped aside. Kian's feet felt rooted to the ground, but he managed to take a hesitant step, then another. It was warm inside. “He loves you.”

“Yeah.” They knew. That, at least, made it easier. Or harder. He couldn't tell. They were both studying him, giving him that look, the same one he got from everyone. The one that said they weren't sure yet if he was worth it.

Mark had never given him that look. He glanced towards the stairs again.

“You'd better go wake him, then.” She nodded. “If you've come all this way at this time of the night.”

“I...” His heart was in his throat, suddenly. He didn't know what to say when he got up there. Didn't know what Mark would say to him.

The first few steps were slow and heavy.

By the time he reached the top he was flying.

 


End file.
